


Kissing Strangers

by winterkill



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Beach Vacation, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Jaime is Brienne's vacation sugar daddy, Jaime the Instagram thot, Lots of kissing, Romantic Comedy, Sharing a Bed, Smut, Social Media, and Brienne in a swimsuit, and LOTS of food (even for me lol), and lots of tropical vacation tropes like UST-filled sunscreen application, courtesy of Brienne the recent college grad, he's that woman who has random men kiss her for pictures at romantic destinations, it's always there but I am LEANING INTO IT okay?, only it's just Brienne over and over and over, only she's a terrible sugar baby because she likes checking his privilege, please forgive my emoji abuse, this fic contains a surprising amount of social commentary on systemic societal issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:15:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 32,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28016076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterkill/pseuds/winterkill
Summary: Jaime kisses Brienne on a bridge in Volantis, then convinces her to be his Instagram girlfriend for the rest of the trip. Brienne, who doesn’t use social media, doesn’tquiterealize Jaime’s follower count.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 725
Kudos: 791





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NaomiGnome](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NaomiGnome/gifts).



> If you follow me on tumblr, I've been talking about this fic for a few weeks. I just finished the first draft, and I'm really excited to share it! Thank you to forbiddenfantasies and aliveanddrunkonsunlight for cheerleading and beta reading. 🥰
> 
> I apologize in advance for the copious amount of emoji this fic contains. If you're looking for a light and festive tropical romcom, you've landed in the right place!
> 
> There's also _a lot_ of kissing

The winter break backpacking trip across Essos is Margaery’s idea, which is hilariously ironic because she’s the first one to back out.

“I looked at pictures of some of the hostels online,” she tells Brienne, “I’m not sharing a shower with twenty strangers.”

Brienne sighs and says, “They’re cheap. We’re going to experience the Free Cities, not spend the entire time sequestered in a resort.”

Margaery sighs, “A beachfront spa for Sevenmas. Can we do that instead?”

 _It’s supposed to be something we all can afford._ Brienne doesn’t say that; in fact, she keeps every unkind thought to herself as Margaery waffles back and forth, refusing without ever _actually_ saying no. Margaery is a solid friend--quick to offer a shoulder to cry on and quicker yet to call out someone’s bullshit. She was also exactly the type of person to romanticize a backpacking trip and renege as soon as she realized what _exactly_ that meant.

It’s what Brienne expects, so she can’t even be angry.

From there, Margaery sets off a domino effect and the trip crumbles. Loras invites Renly to the Reach to meet his family for the holidays. Catelyn asks Sansa to come home and help Arya with her college applications. Their reasons are logical and don’t reflect their quality as friends, but Brienne just graduated, and this felt like their last chance to do something as a group.

She keeps her surliness over it to herself and decides to do what she always does when others won’t cooperate--do it by herself. Galladon and her father seem less than thrilled when she tells them during her weekly call home. Brienne can predict her father’s response before she hears it.

“Honey, are you _sure_ it’s safe to go alone?”

“There’s _lots_ of tourists, Dad,” Galladon chimes in. Brienne’s a bit shocked that Galladon is sticking up for her; sometimes, he acts like an older brother and betrays her. 

“It’s true,” Brienne tries to sound _very_ confident, “I’m not going to wander into the desert or let some stranger pick me up. The hostels are safe, too.”

“But you’ll miss Sevenmas,” her father sounds dejected by the prospect. It was around the holidays when Brienne’s mother passed away, and he always gets morose. Brienne tries not to let the guilt stop her from going.

Galladon laughs, “They’ll be another one next year.”

“I’ll be back for New Year’s, Dad; we can exchange gifts then.”

Oddly petulant for a man in his fifties, her father says, “Bring me a good souvenir.”

“Brienne,” her brother says, “You know he means booze.”

* * *

The flight is long and tiring. 

Brienne’s never been on an international flight and was hoping the plane would be more comfortable. The scant few extra inches of legroom are nice for the first few hours, but halfway through, the predictable feeling of being folded like an accordion returns. In the spirit of backpacking, she didn’t check any luggage and watched a half-dozen YouTube videos on efficient packing. The weird way she folded her shirts didn’t seem any more space efficient, but maybe she could’ve done it better.

The first half of the flight, Brienne studies her guidebook and reviews her itinerary. The Free Cities were too spread apart to cover in a single trip, so Brienne abandoned her dreams of seeing Braavos in favor of the warmer southern part of Essos. Each day is planned nearly to the hour. There’s too many sights to see and foods she wants to try. 

_Going alone is better. I don’t have to compromise and can spend time doing what I like._ As a young woman, it was good to travel alone; she didn’t need a group of friends or a man to enjoy herself. She was perfectly capable of planning, executing, and enjoying a trip by herself. 

The second half of the flight is spent watching movies and sleeping in a contorted way that makes her neck ache when she wakes up. Brienne restlessly fidgets in her seat, trying to get comfortable, until the man in the next seat glares at her.

Planes simply weren’t made for tall people.

* * *

The hostel isn’t made for tall people, either.

Brienne’s feet hang over the edge of the single bed, and it’s too narrow for her to sleep comfortably on. Thankfully, no one bears witness to her mortifying attempt to wash her hair. The showerhead barely comes up to her chin, and she could probably piss with more water pressure than comes from the ancient pipes. 

If her friends hadn’t bailed, they could’ve reserved an entire room to themselves. Instead, Brienne sleeps uneasy around strangers, and her first full day in Volantis starts with a sore neck. She’s late starting out, and by the time she’s eating a pastry across from a fountain, the entire itinerary is pretty wrecked.

The pastry is delicious, at least--heavily-spiced with cardamom and bursting with golden raisins.

It’s not even noon, and the weather is already oppressively hot. Brienne's hair is lank with sweat, so she piles it on top of her head in a bun. Sansa and Margaery make the style look effortless, but Brienne’s hair is so fine it just looks messy. At least it’s marginally cooler. Several children splash, barefoot, in the fountain, and Brienne sort of wishes she could join them. It’s cute when they do it, but something tells her it won’t have the same effect when a six-foot tall, adult woman tries it.

When her pastry is gone, Brienne decides to continue with her schedule, even if she’s an hour behind. Her hostel is located in the eastern Volantis, so she intends to cross the Rhoyne River over the Long Bridge to the western half of the city. It’s older and has more of the architecture she’s interested in seeing. That, and the street market on the Long Bridge is one of the biggest tourist attractions in the city.

For being a coastal town, most of Volantis gets _absolutely_ no breeze. By the time Brienne wanders through the streets, she’s hoping desperately for the relief of a sea breeze. She’s used to Tarth where it’s _always_ windy. The Long Bridge catches some of the air off the Rhoyne, but it’s so crowded and sunny it hardly matters. All the shops seem to be tacky tourist traps selling flip-flops and t-shirts.

The gateway to the Long Bridge is an ancient arch made of black stone. She looked at pictures online, but they didn’t do it justice. The arch is massive and inlaid with carvings of dragons and sphinxes and other creatures she can’t name. Brienne stops in the middle of the bridge and holds up her phone to take a picture. Some people jostle her, but it takes a lot to move someone of her stature.

Brienne doesn’t like everything about herself, but she _does_ like that.

She’s trying to identify a creature carved on the left side of the arch (a griffin maybe?) when a voice calls out to her.

“Hey!”

There’s a lot of commotion, so Brienne ignores it at first. 

“Hey! Tall girl!”

_Well, that narrows it down._

Abandoning guessing at the carving (she’s leaning toward manticore, now), Brienne swivels around, seeking the source of the voice.

“I’m talking to you,” he calls again.

The man waving at her might be the most attractive person Brienne’s ever seen. The first, and probably most ridiculous, detail Brienne notices is that he _doesn’t_ look like the sweltering Volantis sun is trying to turn him into a puddle and evaporate him. In fact, he looks so fresh she expects a photo crew to manifest and start taking pictures. His hair, golden in the bright sunlight, is just long enough that the curls look like she could sink her fingers into them. His eyes remind her of spring leaves on Tarth, bright verdant with flecks of a deeper green.

Brienne refuses to think about the perfect line of his jaw, or the fact that his shirt, which has “it’s always happy hour in Volantis” emblazoned on it, seems at least a size too small.

“You, um, what?” she stumbles like an utter moron.

“I have a weird request for you.” He sounds exasperated, and it makes Brienne wonder how many times he’s repeated the line while she was ogling him.

“I...yeah? Do you?”

He starts laughing, “Not much of a conversationalist. Got it.”

Some of the brilliant glow around him dims in his rudeness, so Brienne crosses her arms. “What do you want?”

“I was hoping you could take a picture of me in front of the arch.” He slides his phone from the pocket of his board shorts and gestures vaguely with it.

The request is so banal that Brienne is taken aback. “S-Sure. Is it...just you?” His hot, supermodel girlfriend is going to rush from the crowd any moment and cling to his arm.

He freezes, mouth slightly agape, and unless he’s developed an instantaneously sunburn, he’s embarrassed. “Actually, I was hoping you would be _in_ the picture with me.”

_“Why?”_

“I want to kiss someone under the arch, and I want a picture of it.”

As if by way of demonstration, a couple stops in the middle of the crowd under the arch and kisses while someone snaps a picture. Brienne watches the scene and a sort of hysterical laughter bubbles up in her chest.

 _Her,_ Brienne Tarth, kissing this...well, frankly, obscenely sexy stranger. She looks him up and down again, and starts giggling even more, leaning forward to press her palms against her thighs. _Ridiculous._ By the time she straightens up, she nearly has tears running down her face.

He’s wearing an offended scowl and sounds more pouty than any grown man ought to. “Just say no if you don’t want to.” 

“You do realize you just asked a stranger in a foreign country to _kiss_ you.”

He crosses his arms, blocking the text on his shirt, “I know what I asked.”

“Why not ask your girlfriend?”

“Because I’m here alone.”

On a purely physical level, Brienne _wants_ to kiss him. He’s exactly her type--a pretty-face concealing a probably vain, assholish personality. A man who’s out of her league, who’d never even look her way. Renly had been like that; she nursed her feelings from afar until they faded. She had a weakness for this type of guy since she tacked posters of boyband members to her bedroom wall in middle school. It was a fucking curse.

Margaery appears as a little devil on Brienne's shoulder, whispering _do it do it do it._

“F-fine. What are you gonna do with the picture?”

He smiles at her, and of course it’s perfect. Brienne wonders if he suffered through braces as a teen like she had, or if the gods had gifted him that perfectly, too. 

“I’m gonna post it on Instagram.”

Another gobsmack, but Brienne feels herself nodding. Her only experience with Instagram is being the one friend of her group who refuses to use social media. Even if she _was_ interested (which she isn’t), there’s so way she’d sign up after railing against the vapid, performative nature of it. Her pride wouldn’t let her.

“...F-Fine.”

An elderly couple passing by offers to take the photo, and Brienne is reasonably confident they won’t run away with the phone (not that it matters to her). As soon as the man enters her personal space, Brienne regrets her choice immediately. When he tilts his chin up, he’s _just_ tall enough to reach her; Brienne’s never kissed a man she didn’t have to bend down for. 

Once, she went on a date with a guy who demanded she wear flats and never heels. Brienne didn’t even _like_ heels, but she liked them more than being told what to wear to soothe a man’s ego.

He also smells _amazing--_ something spiced and warm, yet slightly sweet.

The older woman holds up the phone, “On the count of three!” 

What Brienne expects is a peck; what she gets is an armful of enthusiasm. He goes up on his toes just the slightest bit, throws his arms around her neck, and kisses her soundly. Their bodies press together, and it’s fucking _dangerous._ She’d swear on some ancestral Tarth grave that he slips her a _hint_ of tongue, but it’s gone so fast she must’ve imagined it. Either way, her hands itch to pull him closer, to taste more of him.

The phone makes the artificial camera shutter noise, and he steps back. His lips are red and wet, and Brienne has to stop herself from another fit of hysterical laughter. Her stomach feels like it’s filled with agitated bees.

“Damn,” he grins, “If that’s how you kiss strangers, I’d love to see how you kiss your friends.”

Brienne’s face lights up brighter than a Sevenmas tree, brighter than the fucking Essosi sun. Before she can respond, the elderly woman returns his phone and says something about “young love” in High Valyrian. Brienne’s lessons from high school are mostly forgotten. The man doesn’t react, so Brienne assumes he knows even less of the language than she does.

“Show me,” she demands.

He does, and Brienne looks...well, like she’s been wandering around in the oven that is Volantis all morning. He still looks like a model. What really draws her eye is the way she can see he went up on his tiptoes to kiss her. He hadn’t even commented on it.

“This will _absolutely_ do it,” he mumbles, “Hey, what’s your Insta username? I’ll tag you.”

“I don’t...use social media.” Brienne makes sure to sound _extra_ uppity about it.

He looks at her for a moment, thoughtful, but shrugs and starts walking away, “Guess you really will be a stranger, then. Maybe I’ll see you around, tall girl.”

Brienne just stands there. _I didn’t even get his name._

* * *

Since winter break started, Margaery’s taken to lazing around in bed checking her phone. It’s a waste of time that both Sansa or Brienne would roll their eyes over, but they’re not here to be judgy. She’s supposed to meet up with her brothers for lunch later and go shopping for gifts, and if she lounges around for a bit longer, lunch will be brunch.

The Reach doesn’t get that cold in the winter, but it’s enough for an extra blanket on the bed, so Margaery feels quite cozy as she scrolls through Instagram. Her friends are posting holiday photos--shopping, sledding, tree trimming with their families. Sansa’s latest post is of two mugs of hot cocoa in mugs with snowflakes on them. Margaery smiles and likes the post.

“Too bad the person I’m _really_ interested in seeing turns up her nose at Instagram,” Margaery mumbles.

Margaery loves Brienne dearly, but she was _definitely_ prone to high-minded statements about other people’s behavior. It annoyed Margaery a bit a first, but now it makes her smile. Still, she wants to see what Brienne is doing to Volantis and has no way to do so. She felt a bit bad for not going on the trip, but Brienne going alone didn’t surprise her.

Mindlessly, Margaery scrolls past some celebrities and influencers she follows, not really seeing the posts, until she catches sight of a familiar tourist spot in Volantis. Brienne showed her picture after picture in an effort to make hostels and backpacking seem appealing (it didn’t work).

Only the post, of course, isn’t Brienne’s. It comes from Jaime Lannister, who, if Margaery’s being totally honest, she only follows because their families’ social circles overlap.

That, and he’s really, _really_ hot.

Jaime’s Instagram is filled with thirst traps, only Margaery can never figure out how intentional he’s being about them. There’s an odd old man vibe to his social media because he’s terrible with hashtags, and his selfies are sometimes at unflattering angles.

Again, Jaime Lannister is really, really hot. He’d look like a god in the shittiest, low-angle selfie with no filter. Margaery both hates and admires it.

This picture isn't a selfie. Instead, Jaime is kissing someone beneath a stone archway--a tall, _very_ blonde someone. Someone wearing a canvas backpack Margaery’s seen a hundred times. Someone who’s freckled legs look eerily familiar. 

Someone who is _absolutely_ , one-hundred percent definitely Brienne Tarth.

The hashtag reads #VolantisIsForLovers and #VacationFun and a string of other nonsensical things. Margaery's first reaction is what any good friend would do--she takes a screenshot and posts it in their group chat.

_omg have you SEEN this?_


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day Jaime's engagement ends is the best day of the entire year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit, I am floored by the response this got. Thank you! I loved every comment and kudos. aliveanddrunkonsunlight and forbiddenfantasies have my endless gratitude for their feedback and cheerleading.
> 
> The flagrant emoji abuse starts in this chapter. 😂
> 
> Also, the first two scenes of this take place BEFORE Jaime and Brienne's kiss in the last chapter. I _think_ I made it clear enough, but just in case!

The day Jaime's engagement ends is the best day of the entire year.

Honestly, the worst day of the year was the day the engagement began, just over six months ago. Marrying Lysa Tully was his father’s idea; it was advantageous in some business sense that Jaime couldn’t be bothered to commit to memory. Something about Lysa’s father, Hoster Tully, and real estate developments in the Riverlands. 

Jaime had gone to high school with Lysa, though she was two grades below him. The Tully sister that  _ really _ caught his eye was Lysa’s older sister Catelyn. Not that she ever looked in his direction; even if she had, Cersei was  _ very _ good at keeping girls from getting too close to Jaime because she was  _ terrifying. _

In the two decades since Jaime last saw Lysa,  _ a lot _ changed. He remembered her as quiet and a bit overshadowed by the more popular Catelyn. Honestly, after their first few meetings, Jaime started to feel some sympathy for her. She’d been married once to a much older man, widowed, and suffered several miscarriages. Her one surviving child, Robert, was sickly and required seemingly more care than Lysa could provide alone. 

It was clear from the beginning that it wasn’t going to work out. Lysa was desperate for an affection Jaime couldn’t provide her, and she probably wasn’t in the position to be marrying  _ anyone. _

To say the engagement simply ended was inaccurate--it  _ exploded,  _ rather publicly, and Lysa tried to physically attack him. There’d been tabloid articles and everything. Jaime’s seen them all because Tyrion keeps fucking texting him links.  _ Lannister Heir Dumps Fiance _ and  _ Lysa Tully Attacks Jaime Lannister After Heated Breakup. _

Jaime’s only  _ real _ regret was waiting until a month before the wedding. He barely had a hand in planning it, and he tried to think about it as little as possible. He was going to stand where his father told him, and say what he was told to say, just as he’d always done.

That was a fucking shitty way to live, and Jaime’s glad for how things worked out. The only funny part is that he ends up in Volantis, on what was supposed to be his honeymoon, alone.

* * *

The penthouse suite is lavishly decorated and has panoramic views of the Summer Sea. On one side, the twinkling lights of Volantis are spread out below, and Jaime sees what he believes is the Rhoyne River. 

There’s champagne and chocolate covered strawberries. In fact, the entire suite is laid out for a happy, newlywed couple. Only there’s just Jaime, sprawled out on the giant bed in his boxers eating the strawberries and drinking champagne straight from the bottle.

It’s peak selfie material, so he makes it look like he’s chugging the champagne and snaps a picture. He adds the caption “All alone in my honeymoon suite.  😞 “ before posting it to Instagram with a series of the first hashtags he can think of. 

_ All _ of them are nonsense.

Within a few minutes, the notifications start blowing up Jaime’s phone. He spends the next half hour getting progressively more tipsy as people post fire emoji and ask for his room number. He’s been mildly obsessed with Instagram since Myrcella showed it to him nearly a year ago. She was  _ much _ better at it than him, but somehow Jaime’s selfies amassed quite a following. It also drove his father  _ insane, _ and he never failed to comment on how Jaime was besmirching the family image with his bullshit.

His phone ringing startles Jaime so much that he drops his phone on his face and nearly knocks over the ice bucket housing the champagne.

Tyrion doesn’t even greet him; instead, he says, “I see that you made it to Volantis.”

“You know, I  _ did,”  _ Jaime hiccups, “thank you for checking.”

“I’d ask if you’re finding some exotic Essosi beauty to spend your failed wedding night with, but Instagram tells me otherwise.”

“I’ve got champagne and strawberries, bro. I’m all set.”

Tyrion starts laughing, but Jaime knows it’s  _ at  _ him and not with him. “Bang  _ one _ hot chick while you’re there, okay? Prove it with an Instagram post.”

“Tyrion, I’m hanging up.”

His brother is still laughing when Jaime ends the call.

When the champagne is gone, Jaime forces himself to drink two glasses of tap water, crawls into the obscenely large bed alone, and falls asleep listening to the waves hitting the beach far below.

It’s much nicer than his  _ actual _ wedding night would’ve been.

* * *

The kissing picture gets more likes than anything Jaime’s ever posted on Instagram (and, not to brag, but he usually gets quite a bit of attention). Nearly a day later, the likes and comments are still pouring in steadily. 

He asks the concierge at the hotel what sights he should see, and the man suggests a day trip to  Selhorys and orders Jaime a car. On the ride, Jaime  _ should _ be looking out the window, but instead he keeps scrolling back through the comments and chuckling to himself. 

_ Who is she? _

_ Holy shit that girl is tall! _

_ Look at how he’s up on his toes to reach her! _

There’s also an  _ obscene _ amount of heart emoji, including a dozen in a row from Myrcella.

Jaime stares at the picture, and  _ he _ can’t stop thinking about kissing her, either. The way her strong hands settled hesitantly at his back, the heat pouring off her skin where they touched, the fact that she was absolutely covered in freckles and had the most ridiculous blue eyes he’d ever seen. He even liked that she was a  _ bit _ taller.

“I should’ve asked her name. Instead I made some smartass comment.  _ Ugh.” _

His driver is the utmost professional because he doesn’t even react to Jaime’s mutterings.

Selhorys is, somehow,  _ hotter _ than Volantis, any semblance of sea breeze murdered by being further inland. It seems the Rhoyne is too stubborn a river to even bother generating a breeze. The locals don’t seem to mind; they carry on their business of shopping and working while Jaime wanders aimlessly. He doesn’t know a single word of High Valyrian, and has no idea where he’s going.

The town is pretty; the buildings are domed and made of sandstone and colorful tiles line the streets. Jaime pokes around at stalls and admires the glass lanterns hanging from lampposts. 

His phone tells him there’s a headless statue in the center of town, so Jaime plans walking directions and makes his way there. He only gets distracted by food stalls once and ends up eating a variety of spiced meats on kabobs.

It’s in front of the headless statue that he sees her. Her back is to him, and she’s wearing a different tank top and shorts than yesterday, but her clothes seem just as practical. She’s added a baseball cap to the ensemble, and her ponytail is pulled through it.

_ The gods are shitheads, but they’re smiling on me today. _

“It’s the tall girl again,” Jaime calls out, “It must be fate that we keep running into each other.”

She turns, and even under the bill of the baseball cap, Jaime can see her redden.  _ Is it embarrassment or annoyance? _

“I have--” she balls her hands into fists at her sides, “I have a name.”

“And I’d  _ love _ to know it.”

“Brienne.”

“Just Brienne?”

“...Brienne Tarth,” she practically grumbles.

She turns to look up at the statue, so Jaime follows suit. Up close, it’s quite ornate and made of metal. The base holding it is nearly as tall as either of them and bears an inscription Jaime can’t read.

“Do you know what we’re looking at here, Brienne?”

“It’s a statue of  Triarch Horonno. He used to be one of the rulers of Volantis during the Century of Blood. He wouldn’t abdicate, so they tied him between two elephants and ripped him in half.”

Jaime winces,  _ “Ouch.  _ Where’d the head go?”

“The group who took power after him apparently decapitated all the statues of him or his followers,” Brienne sounds like a history textbook, “It makes a statement, doesn’t it?”

“It sure as hell does,” Jaime glances at her.

Brienne narrows her eyes into a glare, “Do  _ you _ have a name?”

“Jaime.”

_ “Just  _ Jaime?”

“...Lannister.”

When people hear his name, they either start berating him for his father’s business empire, or they start sucking up. Brienne just looks a bit puzzled, brow furrowed and lips pursed.  _ Those lips.  _ Jaime just stares and  _ remembers. _

“Brienne, we should take another picture.”

_ “What?” _

Jaime doesn’t have a real reason other than he wants to kiss her again. “The last one got a lot of likes,” he says instead, not sure if that reason is any better.

“This is the most ridiculous--why should I? _ ” _

“Because it was a good kiss, and you’re not in Volantis every day.”

She rolls her eyes, but a moment later she nods once. Jaime finds the gesture irrationally endearing.  _ “Fine.” _

Beaming, Jaime brandishes his phone to the first Westerosi tourist he sees; the fanny pack she’s wearing is a dead giveaway. “Can you take a photo of me and my girlfriend?”

There’s an indignant noise behind him, which must be Brienne protesting the label. It seemed more expedited than a real explanation. 

The woman laughs at them, “Is this your first trip together?”

“Yep,” Jaime says, “and we’re having  _ such  _ a good time.”

Brienne glares, but Jaime loops his arms around her neck anyway and looks up at her, batting his eyes dramatically. The woman coos at them and holds up Jaime’s phone.

“Jaime,” Brienne says, glaring even more acutely, “that’s  _ not _ cute.”

“I know,” he agrees, “You should dip me, like they do in old movies.”

_ She could drop my ass on the ground out of spite.  _ Only Brienne doesn’t; she rests her hands on his back and tilts him while Jaime keeps his arms tightly around her neck. There’s an element of trust in the gesture, and Jaime’s heart races when he realizes Brienne  _ isn’t _ going to let him crack his head open on the ground. When she kisses him, Jaime feels delightfully secure, so much so that he loosens his death grip around her neck.

Yesterday, Jaime meant the kiss to be no more than a peck. He means the same today but quickly realizes that just isn’t how kissing Brienne goes. In fact, when Jaime tries to wrangle himself away from Brienne, she huffs and chases him, initiating a second kiss. Everything is  _ too _ good--the minty vanilla flavor of her lip balm, the softness of her lips moving against his, the fact that she  _ still _ hasn’t dropped him and doesn’t seem the least bit bothered by holding him.

Jaime wants to feel Brienne’s tongue against his, wants the heat of her mouth consuming his own. The accidental teases of it aren’t enough. If he just--

There’s an exaggerated cough, and it breaks the spell. Jaime looks to his right; the woman with his phone is fanning herself with a travel brochure. Her cheeks are flushed, but getting sunburned in Volantis seemed impossible to avoid. 

“I, um, I hope you don’t mind, but I took a video.”

Courteously, Brienne lets Jaime get his footing before bolting away like she’s been burned. She crosses her arms over her chest and looks everywhere but at Jaime.

“A  _ video!”  _ he claps once, “that’s  _ perfect.  _ Thank you.”

The woman giggles and hands Jaime’s phone back to him, “Have fun, you two.”

“We’re having lots of fun already.”

Jaime presses play on the video; it’s thirty-seven fucking seconds long, but it certainly didn’t feel it. Brienne is staring at the statue of Triarch Horonno like he’s the coolest thing she’s ever seen.

Yesterday, Jaime was an idiot for ending their conversation with some smarmy bullshit about hopefully running into Brienne again. Well, he’s gotten lucky, and today he wasn’t going to be so cavalier about getting a third chance

“Brienne, spend the rest of the day with me.”

She turns from the statue, arms still crossed over her chest, “Do you think you’re that good of company?”

“Honestly, no.”

Brienne raises brows so pale they’re nearly unnoticeable. “You need to work on your sales pitch.”

“I don’t usually have to try,” Jaime shrugs, “but you seem like you’re traveling alone.”

“Can a woman not do that?”

“That’s not what I-- _ I’m _ here alone, too.”

Maybe it’s Jaime’s tone, or maybe it’s the new common ground between them, but Brienne’s posture softens a bit. “My friends all backed out, but I wanted to see Volantis, so I came alone.”

“Shouldn’t the two Westerosi tourists stick together?” 

“...Just for the afternoon.”

* * *

Over the course of the afternoon, Brienne proves a useful tour guide. She isn’t fluent in High Valyrian, but she can cobble a sentence together to ask for directions and order food. She also has a sizable bank of facts about the sights they pass, and she  _ never _ checks her phone except to take a photo. Jaime feels like his is glued to his hand, sometimes, and it’s weird to see someone younger than him so disinterested in technology. He watches Brienne talk and tries to piece together the facts of her life--her age (definitely younger than him), where she’s from (her word choice and affectation scream Stormlands), any hobbies she has (she’s strong as hell, so something athletic), but she never divulges any details.

Brienne does, however, know the year the red temple of R’hllor in the center of the city was built, and that  Selhorys was more vulnerable to raids by the Dothraki than towns west of the  Rhoyne. She also knows facts about the Second Spice War and the giant turtles that live in the river. Jaime isn’t much for history, but Brienne’s voice draws him in.

The days are shorter near midwinter, even in Essos, so as the sun sets, Jaime suggests they get something to eat. The evening doesn’t cool off much, and  Selhorys is filled with old buildings that lack central air. They eat on a patio lining the sidewalk that’s lit by more of the colored glass lanterns the city is so fond of.

“So,” Jaime says after they’ve ordered drinks and are staring at helpfully translated menus, “Why do you know so much about Volantis? You could be a tour guide.”

“I, um, I took an Essosi history class. I remembered more than I thought.” 

“I probably  _ slept _ through an Essosi history class in college, but it would’ve gone in one ear and out the other either way.”

The lanterns make everything soft and muted, even Brienne’s obvious blush. “It was only last spring, and I earned a high grade on the final.”

_ Last spring.  _ Jaime was about to take a drink, but freezes, hand holding his glass aloft.  _ “Last spring?  _ Are you a college student?”

“No.”

“When did you graduate?”

“...Almost two weeks ago.”

Jaime takes a  _ really _ big gulp of his drink; it tastes like someone punched him in the mouth with a coconut.

Of all the women to kiss, he chose one who’s bachelor’s degree hadn’t even arrived in the mail yet.  _ Tyrion will lose his shit when he finds out. _ His brother was always saying gross shit about looking for girls that were just on the safe side of legal. Brienne would fall under his brother’s radar because she wasn’t immediately pretty. Jaime found her interesting yesterday, but today he’d grown enchanted by her freckles and the bump in her nose and her muscular build. He’d bet anyone to spend a day with her and not see her charms.

“Seven hells, you’re a  _ baby,”  _ he says.

Brienne hunches her shoulders, “I’m a grown woman. This was supposed to be my graduation trip, and I planned it and paid for it all on my own.”

The waiter shows up before Jaime can respond, and they order their food. When he leaves, Jaime says, “This was supposed to be my honeymoon.”

She blinks at him.

“It was already planned and paid for, so I came alone.”

“I’m sorry,” her voice is very soft, “That must hurt.”

“The wedding was my father’s idea,” Jaime shrugs. He’s grateful Brienne doesn’t seem to know about the tabloid coverage of his break up.

“Is your break up why you’re kissing twenty-two year old women and posting the photos to Instagram?” Brienne’s smile is a bit mischievous, which is one Jaime hasn’t seen yet.

_ “Twenty-two,”  _ Jaime almost bemoans it, “Everyone will think I’m having a mid-life crisis.”

“Well, aren’t you?  Hoping your ex will see the pictures and get jealous? ”

“No. I was relieved when my engagement ended. We wouldn’t have been happy,” Jaime pauses for dramatic effect, “I’m trying to piss off my father.”

Brienne starts laughing, much too loudly for the setting, but Jaime thinks it’s perfect. He wants to laugh, too. “Your  _ father,” _ she says after she catches her breath, “You’re thirty--?”

“--Seven,” Jaime finishes.

“Thirty-seven,” she repeats, laughing harder, “And you’re using social media to make your dad angry? Is this a case of arrested development?”

_ “Rude.  _ Tywin Lannister is very image conscious. I have to take my victories where I can get them.” The truth is that Jaime’s lived under his father’s thumb for too long, and he’s only now figuring out how to extract himself. Instagram was just the first step of rebellion.

He expects Brienne to mock him, but instead she falls quiet. The food comes, and they eat in silence until she speaks again..

“Do you...what did people think of yesterday’s picture?”

Jaime whips out his phone, opens Instagram, and shows her. Brienne’s face pales when she sees the number of likes and comments. 

“Oh  _ gods,  _ I didn’t realize you were so--”

“I’ve got a few followers,” Jaime tries to downplay it. He swipes to the video from today, and Brienne turns scarlet. “They all want to know who you are.”

“I...I’m no one.”

Suddenly, Jaime has the most absurd idea. An absurd idea that brings him more joy than anything in recent memory. “My honeymoon,” he says, “Everything is booked for two. Come with me. It’ll be better than whatever shitty hostel you budgeted.”

Brienne’s voice goes deadly low, “Are you trying to sleep with me?”

“W-What? No. I just thought we had fun today, and--”

“That’s it?” She sounds skeptical. “You just wanna hang out with me?”

“...I guess that’s weird?” 

“A little. It’d be somehow  _ less _ weird if you just wanted to sleep with me.” Brienne pauses and bites her lip, “You’re older, and rich, and men like you think you can flatter and buy women into bed with you. If I wasn’t...”

“Wasn’t what?”

_ “Myself,” _ she finishes.

“I’m not most men.” That probably makes him sound like a pompous jackass. “I just feel like we ran into each other twice for a reason. Maybe we’re supposed to spend this vacation together.”

Brienne laughs, “Like fate?”

“Or spite. We both came to Essos alone. We both decided this trip was happening, even though  _ everything _ conspired to fuck it up.”

“That’s true.”

“If I do anything weird, you can kick my ass.”

“...That’s also probably true.”

“Keep taking pictures with me.” Jaime deliberately doesn’t phrase it as  _ keep kissing me,  _ even though that’s what he means. “I want my father’s blood pressure to rise each time he sees one.”

For a long moment, Brienne appears to be considering Jaime’s offer. Eventually, she looks at her watch. “I missed the last bus back to Volantis, and my feet stick out of the end of the bed at the hostel.” 

“You should  _ see _ the size of the bed in my suite,” Jaime grins, “I hired a private driver to get here today,  _ and _ I’ll pay for dinner.”

Jaime isn’t sure what aspect of the offer reels Brienne in, but he’s  _ very  _ pleased when she huffs and says,  _ “Fine.” _

* * *

As soon as he was old enough to move around and make choices for himself, Tyrion took great glee in making his father grind his teeth. Sometimes, a vein would throb in his temple, and that was icing on the cake. It made Tyrion want to throw confetti into the air. 

It was easy because his father’s expectations for him were less than nothing. All Tyrion had to do was be born for his father to expect nothing from him. It hurt for a long time, until Tyrion realized  _ he _ had power over his rigid, image conscious, patriarchal asshole of a parent. Jaime was different; their father foisted  _ every _ expectation on his shoulders, heavier and heavier until he broke under the weight of them. 

Tyrion has never told Jaime that their father being pissed about his Instagram use makes Jaime seem like a bratty teenaged girl. The entire thing is too fucking funny to spoil, and Tyrion  _ really _ enjoys Jaime’s social media presence.

There’s  _ two _ kissing posts, now; the second one being a video that Tyrion only watches seven seconds of before he taps the screen to pause it. He doesn’t need an extended play of his brother swapping spit with the blonde giantess of a woman. Tyrion swipes back to the first post and stares at her. Freckles.  _ Young. _ Younger than Jaime and probably younger than Tyrion himself.

“Who  _ are _ you?” 

Jaime didn’t tag her in the post, so there’s no clue there. She’s  _ tall,  _ taller than Jaime (which makes Tyrion irrationally jealous) and more blonde, too. Tyrion can tell, even in profile, that she isn’t pretty. He stares a bit longer, but she doesn’t get more appealing.

“Jaime isn’t the vacation fling type,” Tyrion tells his phone. 

Despite what Tyrion suggested, despite Jaime’s (sometimes unwitting) thirst trap selfies, his brother  _ never _ hooks up with women. Yet, here Jaime is, taking Tyrion’s advice and kissing a stranger. He wonders if they’re fucking (the video  _ looks  _ like two people who are fucking).

Tyrion opens his messaging app and starts typing.  _ How old is she, and what’s her name? _

Jaime’s reply is  _ Her name’s Brienne and she’s 22.  _ 😱

He just replies  _ Noice. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time, Brienne discovers her friends are talking about her and wrestles with the ethical dilemma of a free vacation. There's also, of course, more kissing.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne’s a little disoriented when she wakes up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year, everyone!

Brienne’s a little disoriented when she wakes up.

It’s not quite a hangover; although, in retrospect, the third drink might’ve been a mistake. The heat made her dehydrated. She remembers, somewhere near the end of the evening before Jaime used his phone to summon a private car, giggling about something for at least a full minute.

She’d always been a giggly drunk. Margaery teased her pretty relentlessly for it, saying that Brienne had to get all her laughter out because, sober, she was _so_ dour.

Jaime, old man that he was, fell asleep not ten minutes into the drive back to Volantis with his head resting against the window. Brienne was still a little buzzed and barely stopped herself from moving Jaime so he was resting against her shoulder instead.

It was easier to admit to herself, in her state of lowered self-defenses, that she wanted to touch Jaime, even though she barely knew him. After their day together, Brienne couldn’t land on an adjective for Jaime--he was both endearing and grating and perplexing.

A good--no, a _phenomenal_ kisser. That was the one fact Brienne was solid on.

They made a stop at Brienne’s hostel to pick up her backpack. Then, Brienne’s jaw hit the floor at the sheer opulence of the resort where Jaime was staying. It was so ridiculous that stepping foot in the lobby felt like a betrayal of her egalitarian ideals. It wasn’t right that parts of Volantis had such poverty while Westerosi tourists, drowning in gold dragons, stayed here and didn’t have to interact with any of it.

The view was astounding, and Brienne stood on the balcony for a long time, listening to the ocean. Brienne knew what coming back to Jaime’s hotel looked like, but all he’d done was call for extra pillows and set up the pullout couch. The bed was a perfect cloud covered by expensive sheets, and surely the couch wasn’t as comfortable.

Brienne tried to not be disappointed, but the feeling persisted in the morning. _Wasn’t it good that Jaime meant what he said?_ Physical attraction wasn't enough of a reason to _do_ something, no matter how weak in the knees kissing Jaime made her. She’s marinating in that disappointment, testing it against her sense of ethics, when her phone chimes. It’s a text from Margaery.

_You turned off notifications for the group chat, didn’t you?_

Brienne replies, _I’m on vacation._

 _You should check it out._ 😉

The group chat is normally chaos that moves too quickly for Brienne. She’s not good at witty clapbacks, and by the time she comes up with something the conversation has moved on. It’s similar to how she acts in social situations--a quiet observer.

Wary, Brienne opens the chat; the sheer number of messages she’s missed is impossible to backread. The kiss on the Long Bridge was screencapped and shared by Margaery. 

_damn brienne get it!_

_seven hells_ 🥵

🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

_Maybe we should’ve gone with her?_

Then, Sansa shared the link to Jaime’s Instagram and what follows is the greatest expression of collective lust Brienne’s ever seen. When she gets to the picture from yesterday, also screencapped by Margaery, Brienne has to close the tab. 

**Brienne:** _Why would you do that?_ 😳

 **Margaery:** _because he’s hot af and you’re one lucky girl. aren’t you glad i stayed home?_

 **Brienne:** _….Maybe?_

 **Margaery:** _are you seeing him today?_

 **Brienne:** _I’m...in his hotel room._

 **Margaery:** 🤭 _was the sex good? he’s rich but that doesn’t mean he’s got moves_

Brienne refuses to acknowledge that question. Instead, she goes back to the group chat and clicks the link to Jaime’s Instagram. She doesn’t have the app on her phone, but she’s still able to see his posts. It doesn’t take long to realize what a _terrible_ idea this was because Jaime’s posts are mostly selfies, and he’s just as sexy in the photos as he is in person. There’s other pictures, too--food, a cute dog, a selfie with two adorable, equally golden-haired children. 

_They could be his._ Brienne really, _really_ knows nothing about Jaime.

The picture that really does Brienne in is a selfie of Jaime in what is obviously this very bed. She can’t tell if he’s shirtless, but his stupid, attractive golden head is _definitely_ on one of the pillows she used last night.

A small, dark part of her brain says _we could be in this bed together._ It gives Brienne a bad case of butterflies, and she tries to evict the thought from her mind. Instead, she buries her head under the pillow and wants to scream, which is exactly how Jaime finds her.

“Hangover that bad, tall girl?”

“Go away, and _don’t call me that!_ ”

The edge of the bed dips, and Jaime is _clearly_ a bad listener. “Fine, _Brienne,_ were you _looking_ at my Instagram?”

“No.” It’s a pointless lie because her phone must not have locked yet, so Jaime will be able to see.

“Yet here is my handsome face,” he sounds positively giddy, “I thought social media was ‘filled with shallow sycophants and a waste of time.’”

Brienne wasn’t drunk enough to forget her rant about social media; it occurred over dessert, and she _may_ have been a bit too into it. Jaime looked more interested than her friends, who just nodded politely.

“I don’t use Instagram,” Brienne leaves the pillow on her head, “I don’t care about it; I just wanted to see what people were saying.”

“Sure,” Jaime tugs the pillow away, “And I don’t give a _single_ fuck what my father thinks. Sometimes, we just have to tell ourselves things.”

“It’s just dumb posturing to get people’s attention.” Brienne sits up and, remembering she never sleeps in a bra, hugs her arms to her chest. There wasn’t _much_ to cover, but still. 

Jaime rolls his eyes like a pre-teen might at something stupid an adult said. “I’m ordering room service. What do you want?”

“Is there a menu?” Jaime hands it to her, and there’s no price on anything, so Brienne just asks for yogurt.

“...That’s it?’ Jaime raises a perfectly shaped eyebrow; it makes Brienne irrationally irritated.

“There’s _no prices.”_

“Oh,” Jaime looks at the menu again, “Huh, do they ever list them? I’ve never noticed.”

They’re sitting on the same bed, but they couldn’t be further apart. “Breakfast here would take half my food budget for this trip.”

“Well, I’m getting these pineapple coconut pancakes and bacon. And fruit. And maybe breakfast potatoes. And grapefruit juice.”

Brienne looks at the menu again, “The pancakes do look nice.”

 _“Perfect._ Don’t think about the price because you’re not paying.”

* * *

The sky is cloudy, so they decided to take another day trip, this time to the ruins of Chroyane. Brienne’s guidebook tells her the ancient city is often foggy, so the overcast weather won’t matter. Her original plan was to spend the day at the beach, but that was before the experience included Jaime seeing her in a swimsuit. The reverse--seeing Jaime shirtless, is equally dangerous. Chroyane was on Brienne’s list of places to see, anyway, although the addition of Jaime changes the trip a bit.

Brienne planned a bus route from her hostel that involved transferring lines twice. While Jaime gets ready, she uses her phone to modify the route, pleased to find that it’s shorter from the resort.

Breakfast was expensive enough, so when they’re in the elevator, she shows the route to Jaime. “There’s a bus to Chroyane. I’ll buy our tickets.”

“A bus?” Jaime blinks repeatedly at her like she’s grown a second head. “I’ve never been on a bus.”

She scoffs, “It takes a bit longer, but it’s cheaper.”

“We can just take a car; the price doesn’t matter.”

“I want to pay you back for breakfast,” Brienne tries to explain, but Jaime flaps his hand dismissively.

“Save your money, Brienne. Buy a souvenir or something.”

Jaime waltzes into the hotel lobby, tosses a black credit card at the concierge, and a private car just appears.

Money thrown around so freely makes Brienne anxious, but Jaime tips generously and is polite to everyone. Her father had always provided well for Galladon and her, but they weren’t wealthy. Attending a private university in Oldtown on a scholarship meant Brienne was used to being the poorest of her friends, but she rarely let anyone pay for her. 

Until today, apparently.

The ruins of Chroyane are foggy and mysterious. They spend their time until lunch exploring the city, touring the Bridge of Dreams and hopping over flooded streets and looking at sunken statues and temples. It’s a weekday, so the place is relatively quiet. Brienne doesn’t know as much about Chroyane, but she tells Jaime what she does remember--that Stone Men afflicted with grayscale used to wander the ruins, that the river that meets the Rhoyne in the city is called the Lhorulu, and that a great battle against the Valyrian Freehold occurred here during the Second Spice War.

Brienne takes so many pictures with her phone that Jaime starts teasing her.

“If you’re not going to post those, what’s the point?”

“You know, people took pictures before Instagram,” Brienne replies, “There were these things called cameras, and they had film. People took them to be printed and framed them.”

“Are you telling me that you, the _twenty-two year old,_ are going to _print_ those pictures?”

Indignant, Brienne turns around and stomps back to where Jaime is standing, “So what if I am?”

“Let’s take today’s picture on your phone, then.” Jaime’s expression is soft, and he smiles, “You can frame it or put it in your scrapbook and draw hearts around it.”

“I don’t--” she starts to defend herself, but Jaime’s laughter drowns her out.

Brienne offers to pay for their lunch, but Jaime waves her offer away again. The food is overpriced and not very good, but Brienne could’ve managed the bill. Jaime orders a bottle of wine that’s more expensive and delicious than the food. It’s imported from the Reach, which makes Brienne laugh.

“The mark up on this wine is unconscionable,” she says after a bit of salad, “It’s _much_ cheaper in the Reach.”

“Do you spend a lot of time drinking Arbor wines?”

“I went to school in Oldtown. My friend Margaery got me a bottle of Arbor Gold for graduation. It was so expensive I almost didn’t open it. I felt silly drinking it in my tiny apartment; I didn’t even have the right wine glass.”

“I’m not sure this cafe is the right venue, either,” Jaime takes a sip, “It _is_ good, though.”

Brienne sips the wine slowly, savoring it, just as she had the last bottle, “It is.”

“So, you live in Oldtown?”

“I did,” Brienne misses the city already, “but I moved back home right before coming on this trip.”

“And home is…?”

“Take a wild guess.”

Jaime grins, “Tarth.”

* * *

“You know, the Rhoynar used to call this the Palace of Love.”

The ruined palace is on an island in the middle of the Rhoyne; helpful bridges have been built so tourists can navigate it more easily. Brienne’s glad she gets to see it, but, like with most ancient sights, part of her thinks it ought to be left in peace instead of having Westerosi tourists in fanny packs traipsing around.

Brienne glances to Jaime at her left, “That’s the first fact you’ve given me, you know.”

“I read the brochure while you were in the restroom at lunch,” Jaime says, “I’m sure you knew that already, though.”

“If you wanted to impress me, you shouldn’t have admitted that.”

“Would you have believed me?”

“Maybe.”

Jaime looks away from her to the palace ruins. Brienne can almost imagine the structures at their prime; the tall spires capped with domes, the buttresses supporting more than crumbling walls, the terraces and paths filled with people. She always feels a reverence when standing in a place that used to be filled with life.

“The Palace of Love,” Jaime repeats, “Is this today’s photo op?”

He’s grinning; Brienne’s heart races, and she feels as young as she is. It’s fine as long as she keeps the kissing (and the thinking about the kissing) contained to these moments. It’s fine as long as she remembers everything about Jaime that grates on her nerves. It’s fine as long as she thinks of it like a vacation fling (even though it really isn’t). Jaime’s just the most attractive man she’s ever seen, and this is a weird, surreal moment that Brienne stumbled into by mistake.

“Who’s gonna take the picture?” It’s late afternoon, and they’re very much alone.

“Let’s do a selfie!” Jaime, a man nearing forty, _really_ sounds like a teenage girl when he says that. “On your phone, of course.”

Brienne touches the fingerprint reader and opens the camera. _“Fine.”_

“Nothing outlandish today.”

Her mind screams _this whole fucking thing is outlandish._

Jaime wraps his fingers around hers and holds her phone out.; their arm span is nearly equal. “We should try and get some of the backdrop.”

“S-Sure.”

“Let’s see.” Jaime’s brows are drawn together in a concentrated scowl. He touches Brienne’s cheek with his left hand, and it feels more intimate that it ought as he adjusts her head. “Maybe like that?”

She isn’t looking at the camera at all. “Sounds great.”

His fingers are still resting against her cheek when Jaime kisses her. He’s probably not doing it on purpose, but the touch grounds her to the reality of the situation. _A picture, and then it’s over._ There’s no movement until her phone makes the artificial shutter sound. She expects Jaime to pull away, but he only presses her phone into her hand.

“Put that away for a second, Brienne.”

“I need to send it to you--”

“Later,” Jaime interrupts, and then he kisses her again, slowly, tongue brushing against hers, and there’s no one there to see it at all.

* * *

The ride back should’ve been awkward, only Jaime negates the situation by falling asleep again. Brienne would be relieved, except this time he slumps against her shoulder rather than the window. The driver catches sight of them in the rearview mirror and smiles at Brienne. The smile she gives him in return probably isn’t nearly as relaxed.

A sunburn is forming on Jaime’s cheeks. Brienne can’t recall if he put on sunscreen today, but she decides to remind him tomorrow. The thought feels too intimate for how long they’ve known one another.

Sansa always told her she was their group’s “mom friend.” Brienne hadn’t understood what that meant until Margaery and Sansa caught the flu, and Brienne showed up at their dorm with soup and jello and medicine. Aside from Renly, she was the oldest, so it seemed natural to watch out for everyone.

Still, Jaime _probably_ wouldn’t want to be nagged by a twenty-two year old.

Brienne spends the ride looking at the pictures she took. She sent the picture of them kissing to Jaime, which means his number is in her phone now. _Jaime Lannister_ looks weird and foreign in her contact list. She can’t stop herself from checking Instagram and reading the comments.

Jaime doesn’t wake up until the car pulls into the roundabout in front of the hotel. He tips the driver some bills from his wallet without counting and says thank you. Brienne’s skin feels sticky with sweat and her hair never recovered from the hat she wore for half the day; her appearance suits the fancy lobby of the hotel even less than usual.

When they’re back in his room, Jaime says, “Hey, tall girl, wanna do room service again?”

 _“Stop_ calling me--y-yeah, sure.”

“We can eat on the balcony.” He unlatches the sliding door and pushes it open to let the sea breeze in. “You wanna shower first?”

“S-sure,” Brienne repeats, eager for a few moments of solitude, “Just pick something for me.” If the breakfast made her want to faint, the dinner menu might make her heart stop beating entirely.

The shower is as ridiculous as the rest of the room--a showerhead that felt like a soft spring rain, a bench, and a glass wall separating it from the rest of the bathroom. Last night, she made sure the door was locked three times because it felt like showering out in the open. There was a huge tub, too, that honestly looked like Brienne might fit in it, which was tempting. For the time being, hunger wins out.

After, she finds Jaime drinking a beer from the minibar. He offers her one and then heads to the bathroom. Brienne sits on the balcony and sips it until Jaime returns and dinner arrives. Jaime chose seafood--scallops and lobster in a buttery, herbed sauce with pasta. It’s delicious, and Brienne feels guiltier with every bite she takes.

 _I should’ve refused._ The last two days made Brienne feel like she was compromising herself. There were ethics she kept herself to, and each bite of buttery lobster felt like a slippery slope.

When they’re done eating, Brienne rests her elbows on the railing and looks out at the darkness of the Summer Sea. Jaime comes to stand beside her.

“Are you having fun?”

“I am, but...I get wanting to piss off your father,” Brienne doesn’t add that Jaime’s defiance seems _very_ childish, “but if you want the...the _illusion_ of a vacation fling, why in the seven hells would you pick _me?”_

Jaime looks at her, starting at her slightly damp hair, her Oldtown University t-shirt, her shorts and bare feet. “Why _not_ you?”

“Because there are a thousand hot, bikini-clad tourists in this city who’d be _thrilled_ to have your money thrown at them. They’d kiss you, take pictures, or do whatever you wanted because you’re rich and--”

“...And?”

 _“Attractive,”_ Brienne says the word with more venom than she intends. “And I’m _not,_ and I know it, so don’t lie to me about it. I made peace with myself a long time ago, but it took...it took a lot.”

Jaime smiles, but it’s dopey and not at all mocking, “You...think I’m attractive?”

Shrill, she replies, “Of course that’s what you’d take away from that. Have you looked in a godsdamned mirror? And your Instagram-- _ugh.”_

“Maybe I _like_ the attention,” he quickly shifts to irritated, “Maybe I wanted something I could control because I’ve never had a single _fucking_ say in anything that’s happened to me.”

“You have _every_ privilege--you’re rich, and a man, _and_ from a famous family.”

“What does that matter when I’m--” Jaime turns away from her and hunches his shoulders.

“When you’re what?”

 _“Miserable,”_ Jaime’s voice drops to a whisper, “Why did you accept if you think I’m after some twenty-year-old floozy gold digger? Is that what you think of yourself?”

Brienne balls her hands into fists, “I worked every summer and applied for every ridiculous, menial scholarship. I don’t need your stupid, expensive wine and private cars.”

“But you _like_ it,” Jaime keeps his back to her, ”Money doesn’t solve any of my problems, but it makes shit like this nice and easy. You’re just too proud to admit that you like my credit card.“

“What were you expecting from _whomever_ you asked to do this? Did you want me to refuse?”

He whirls back around, “I didn’t plan it! I just...I came here alone because I wanted to get away from everyone. I wasn’t looking for someone; I saw you, and the just idea popped into my head.” 

“You saw _me_ and thought of an Instagram kissing scheme? Why?”

“Because you’re tall, and you stood out.”

“So you wanted to embarrass your father by kissing Brienne the Beauty?” The nickname is ancient, a taunt from middle school. It makes Brienne feel thirteen again, mortified that kissing her became a dare. “Of all the women in Volantis, you picked _me._ I-I think I should go.”

It won’t take long to grab her backpack, so Brienne pushes past Jaime to go back inside. He stops her with a hand on her elbow.

“You just put a shit ton of words in my mouth. The last two days have been the best time I’ve had all year. The pictures are fun, talking to you is fun. I wasn’t...I know you’re young, but I’m not trying to be gross.”

“I-I could tell that much.”

Jaime deflates like a popped balloon, “It looks bad, doesn’t it? I didn’t even think of your age when I asked you to kiss me and take a picture.”

“All my friends are congratulating me for bagging a hot, older man.” Brienne blushes, and Jaime smirks. _“Their_ words, not mine.”

“I want to spend the rest of my vacation with you. We can forget stupid Instagram.”

“There’s compliments in the comments.” Brienne doesn’t want to admit to looking, to _caring._ “I’ve never...people don’t say nice things to me.”

“You read more, didn’t you?” Jaime teases and takes her hands, “They _should_ say those things. You’re smart, and you’re kind. Lots of people think you have great legs.”

Brienne starts giggling, “They’re _covered_ in freckles.”

“Which is charming. Honestly, _you’re_ just charming....and a good kisser.”

“Why are you buttering me up?”

Jaime looks sheepish, “Because I was an ass a few minutes ago, and I don’t think throwing money at you is the apology you want.”

“I was rude, too,” Brienne has very little she can offer Jaime. Even paying for a meal is just for her pride. “I’ll take the pullout tonight.” He’s paying for the room, anyway.

“Your feet will stick out the bottom. We could _both_ sleep in the bed, you know.” He sounds the tiniest bit afraid of rejection.

“It is...very big and soft,” she says, “like a cloud.”

* * *

Brienne was always the smart one; Galladon had known it from the time she was eight and he was twelve, and Brienne came back from Tarth’s small library with a stack of books as high as she was tall.

Of course, Brienne was already tall at eight, so there were _a lot_ of books.

Galladon never read a book that a teacher didn’t force him to, and sometimes not even then. He never considered college until his father nudged him in the direction of a vocational program. Brienne was fourteen, then, and already had twice the diligence Galladon ever had.

 _She’ll be the one to go,_ he thought, and he’d been right. Galladon had to convince Brienne to apply to her dream school instead of settling for a closer school in the Stormlands. Brienne chose an expensive college, all the way across Westeros, and they navigated paying for it together.

“I’m proud of you,” he told her at graduation, meaning every word of it.

Brienne’s friends aren’t his friends, but that doesn’t mean they didn’t exchange information. It’s so easy to stay in superficial contact. None of them have ever contacted Galladon, but he sees their posts.

Margaery messages him though, and says _have you seen what your sister is up to in volantis?_

_Backpacking?_

There’s more typing. _oh not only that_ 😉

In the few minutes they’d spoken, Galladon thought Margaery seemed like the type to say something baity and wait for the person to ask what it was. He decides not to reply.

Nearly ten minutes later, Margaery texts him a link. Before he clicks it, Galladon responds with _Was that so hard?_

All he gets in response is 😏.

The link takes him to Jaime Lannister’s Instagram; Galladon knows _of_ Jaime Lannister in the way everyone knows of the children of stupidly wealthy dynastic families. He thinks Margaery must’ve linked the wrong thing, until--

_“Brienne?!”_

Kissing Jaime Lannister. Kissing him more than once. Kissing him in a selfie. Kissing him in front of a statue. Kissing him on a bridge crowded with tourists.

And, finally, a picture of them _sharing a godsdamned pillow._ Brienne’s cheeks have their familiar, nearly incandescent blush, but she’s wearing a smile he’s never seen on his too-serious baby sister. The text under the picture reads “Last day in Volantis 😭” followed by the most ridiculous series of hashtags, including #BedHairDon’tCare, #BeachDay, and #NoFilter.

Galladon stares at his phone for a long, long time before yelling, “Dad! You need to come see this!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time, there's only one bed, Brienne wears a swimsuit, and Jaime's awkward boner makes its debut.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In an effort not to feel like a lecherous old man, he slept as far away from Brienne as he could. He considered erecting a pillow wall, but didn't want to witness Brienne’s devastating eyebrow raise. The reality is that there’s a twenty-two-year-old in his bed that he’s only known for three days. A twenty-two-year-old who Jaime _quite_ enjoys kissing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the delightful comments last week! We're at the halfway point, now.
> 
> And, as usual, all my gratitude goes to forbiddenfantasies and aliveanddrunkonsunlight for beta reading and cheerleading.

The bed is a king, and Brienne is comfortable enough with him to share it.

In an effort not to feel like a lecherous old man, he slept as far away from Brienne as he could. He considered erecting a pillow wall, but didn't want to witness Brienne’s devastating eyebrow raise. The reality is that there’s a twenty-two-year-old in his bed that he’s only known for three days. A twenty-two-year-old who Jaime _quite_ enjoys kissing.

She’s still asleep, morning light streaming through the sliding glass doors to the balcony, and Jaime is curious. Gingerly, he moves closer to Brienne’s side of the bed, close but not touching, and props himself up on one elbow. Now that Brienne’s isn’t glaring down at him from on high or being a walking trivia database, the truth is glaringly obvious.

_She’s so young._

Her skin has taken on a hint of a suntan over the last three days, but her sea of freckles still stand out. Brienne always seems tense and busy, so seeing her relaxed is quite entrapping. Because he’s terrible at resisting temptation, he runs two fingers over the apple of Brienne’s cheek. 

She twitches at the contact, grumbling a bit and burying her face in the pillow. It gives Jaime better access to her hair, so he twirls a lock around his finger. It’s silky and fine. Brienne’s going to wake up any moment and punt him out of the bed onto his ass.

Instead of mad, when she wakes she looks sleepy and bewildered. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing.”

“That doesn’t feel like nothing.”

“I know.” Jaime can’t say that what he wants is some elusive intimacy. _If the rest of her touch is anything like her kisses._ “Am I bothering you?”

“N-No,” she says, a bit of pink coming into her cheeks. “It might be the least annoying thing you’ve done so far.”

“You’re not thinking ‘why couldn’t the fossil stay on his side of the bed?’”

Brienne rolls her eyes, “You’re not _that_ old, but you’re dramatic enough to be a teenager.”

“Maybe that’s my secret,” he laughs, “Wanna take a selfie?”

_“Now?”_

“Why not?”

“I have bedhead.” She reaches up to inspect her hair, “I don’t just...look cute.”

Jaime vehemently disagrees but keeps it to himself. “Myrcella told me it’s okay to be candid.”

“She’s your…”

“My niece,” he rolls away to grab his phone on the nightstand, “It’s her fault I use Instagram.”

“I think I saw her. How old is she?”

“Thirteen. My sister doesn't do much to keep an eye on her, so I try to.”

Brienne smiles, “That’s sweet of you.”

“Cersei only cares about her oldest, and her husband has a string of mistresses and is never around.” Jaime tried for _years_ to get Cersei to divorce Robert and be a more active parent, to little success. “We don’t get along, so I try to be there for the kids.”

“Is she your only sibling?”

“I have a shithead little brother.”

“I have a shithead older brother,” Brienne’s smile grows, “We can take your silly picture.”

“Be more polite to your elders, tall girl,” Jaime flops onto his back, “and scoot over.”

Brienne scoffs but doesn’t protest the nickname this time, which is a bit disappointing. Then, she makes room for Jaime’s head on her pillow. Their shoulders are brushing, now, but Jaime focuses on the task at hand. He unlocks his phone, opens the camera, and holds it aloft. 

_“See,_ bedhead,” Brienne wrinkles her nose, “Just me, though.”

“Just look like you’re in bed with a...what did you call me? A ‘hot, older man?’”

She laughs, face red from embarrassment, and Jaime snaps the picture. He takes a second picture where Brienne’s eyes are closed, and she’s looking away. Jaime doesn’t know which one he likes better; Brienne has lovely eyes, but the second picture has his stomach in knots.

“Should I text them to you?”

Brienne nods, “S-sure.”

“You can send it to this older brother of yours,” Jaime says.

“I’m...I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“Is he protective? Will he fly to Volantis and beat me up?”

“I wouldn’t let him,” her expression sobers, “Galladon both thinks I can do anything _and_ that I’m still ten. It’s a weird combo. He punched a guy who made fun of my--he punched an asshole when I was in high school. I’ve never brought home a...”

She flounders at the end, and Jaime decides to change the subject to spare her, “I’m supposed to go to Lys tomorrow, but I can stay here.”

“No, don’t waste your reservation.”

“I want you to come.”

Brienne chews her lip, “I...I did want to go to Lys, but it’s expensive.”

There’s a plane ticket he’ll need to buy, but Jaime decides not to mention that. Brienne’s face going pale over the lobster and the Arbor Gold were enough. He’s happy to treat Brienne, but he isn’t trying to impress her by throwing his credit card around.

“We should go to the beach since it’s our last day,” Jaime says instead. The beach is free; Brienne will probably prefer that.

“Sure.”

“First, though,” Jaime stretches theatrically, making sure to bump into Brienne as much as possible in the process until she scowls at him. “I’m on vacation, and I want to sleep more.” 

Curious at how Brienne will react, Jaime fakes a yawn before turning to face away from her. She’s still as a statue for a few heartbeats, and then she turns the direction he’s facing. It’s _exactly_ what Jaime wants, so he grins into the pillow.

“If you’re worried about it,” he teases, “I’ll accept your advances.” 

Brienne’s very cautious, but eventually she drapes her arm over his waist. When she doesn’t move closer, Jaime takes the initiative and scoots back. She’s deliciously warm, and it’s a victory when Jaime feels her relax.

 _“Oh,”_ she whispers, “Like this?”

“If we’re gonna cuddle, let’s not half-ass it.”

* * *

The beach is crowded with Westerosi tourists who want to spend Sevenmas somewhere warm.

They find a beachfront shop that caters to the same underprepared tourists. Jaime buys towels, sunscreen, and two pairs of overpriced sunglasses. Even Jaime can tell the mark-up is ridiculous, but despite Brienne’s balking, he buys it all.

Brienne looks for a spot to place their towels. Jaime’s already getting irritated at the crowd, but she calmly walks to an open patch of sand and drops her overpriced beach bag. 

After she stretches her towel out, she turns and looks at Jaime, “Sunscreen.”

Jaime waves his hand dismissively, “We’re only going to be out here for an hour or two.”

“That’s enough time to burn.”

He drops the bottle of sunscreen on the towel. It’s an SPF so high that Jaime didn’t know it existed. Then, Brienne does something that’s going to be burned into Jaime’s retinas for a good while--she takes off her shorts.

It’s not sexy, or it _shouldn’t_ be. They’re denim, nothing special, but there’s something hypnotic about the way she undoes the button and pushes them over her hips. The swimsuit bottom doesn’t even show _that_ much more skin than the shorts, but Jaime has an unobstructed view of Brienne’s muscular calves and her freckled thighs. There’s a slight tan line from where her shorts usually hit. Brienne’s facing away from him, and Jaime does his damnedest _not_ to look at her ass.

The whole thing has Jaime reaching for his beach bag and putting it in his lap as a safety measure; one that’s quickly necessary. _That’s_ not _what this situation needs._ Beaches called for swimsuits, so of course Brienne is wearing one. She wasn’t stripping down to be titillating; the last thing she’ll want is Jaime ogling her and getting an erection. He tries to reign himself in, feeling quite gentlemanly, until Brienne pulls her t-shirt off in the same brisk manner and drops it onto the towel. 

“A _two piece?”_ he blurts.

Brienne spins to glare, expression icy. The Summer Sea is probably warmer. She hugs her arms to her chest like a shield. “I like swimming laps, and it’s the only swimsuit I have.”

 _Of course._ Brienne’s swimsuit is a dark greenish blue and _looks_ like it would stay in place. Jaime can’t imagine Brienne shopping for swimwear like Cersei would--a different bikini for each day and _none_ of them could weather any activity beyond sunbathing.

“I like it,” Jaime sweeps his gaze over her, trying not to linger conspicuously at her abs (because of _course_ Brienne has abs). “You look good.”

She uncrosses her arms and relaxes, “D-Do I?”

_“Absolutely.”_

Brienne sits next to him on her towel, bending her knees and hugging them. “Someone asked me why I even bothered with the top, once, since there’s nothing to cover.”

 _“Wow._ Somebody’s a cunt.”

She laughs, “Yeah. I’ve heard it all.”

“My sister used to call me stupid and useless all the time, so I know shit like that sticks.” Jaime looks through the crowd out to the sea, “You...you shouldn’t feel self-conscious.”

“I’m over it...mostly. People are assholes. You have to keep your head above it.” 

Jaime bumps her shoulder with his own, “Wise words from a baby.”

“I’m not a baby, but if you think that, then you shouldn’t be--”

There’s no camera at the ready, but Jaime doesn’t care about that anymore. He touches Brienne’s cheek, guiding her head so she’s facing him. The indignant expression on her face is becoming quite familiar, but Jaime kisses it away. He wants to savor it, but he forces himself to stop. Brienne’s lips are parted, but her brows are drawn together.

“You’re right--not that you’re a baby, but that I shouldn’t. I know better...probably, but I never learn.” 

Perplexed goes back to indignation like flipping a switch. “I’m not some...if it’s unwanted, you’ll know.”

“Somehow, I don’t doubt that.” He picks up the sunscreen off the towel, “Do you want help?”

Brienne reddens but nods. It’s a thinly-veiled excuse to touch her, but Jaime waves the thought away. _What are the Instagram pictures, if not that?_ It’s part of a larger, ever-expanding realization that he’s quite attracted to Brienne. In this odd, liminal space of a vacation, where reality doesn’t matter, where there’s no judgement from others, Jaime will welcome all she’ll offer.

He wonders-- _hopes--_ that Brienne sees it as a thinly-veiled excuse to be touched.

Jaime squeezes some sunscreen onto his palms and rubs them together; it has an artificial coconut smell that he hates. Brienne hastily pins her hair up with the tie around her wrist. She startles when Jaime touches her shoulder, smearing the sunscreen over her freckled skin. The straps of her swimsuit cross between her shoulder blades. It’s the kind of spot where perhaps the fabric might shift with activity, so he slides his hand under the strap.

_Another excuse._

From the way Brienne sucks in a breath through her nose and goes very still, Jaime _thinks_ they’re on the same page. Her skin is smooth and a little addicting; he has to stop his hands from wandering to spots Brienne can reach herself, or, worse, spots that don’t need sunscreen at all. If he doesn’t stop now, one thing could lead to another, and _another,_ and then--well, even the _thought_ is too much.

“Freckles everywhere, huh?”

 _“Everywhere,”_ she laments, and Seven take him if that’s not a fucking invitation he wants to RSVP _yes_ to.

When there’s nothing else to rub in even the littlest bit, Jaime says, “T-There.” 

“T-Thanks,” she nearly squeaks, “I can...do you.”

Jaime nods, trying not to seem overly eager as he practically rips his t-shirt off. Brienne looks a bit too long, and Jaime is used to superficial flattery, but this feels different. She’s more cautious than he’d been, but the feeling of Brienne’s hands running down his back is pretty damn amazing. Jaime imagines that she’s lingering, savoring it, just as he had. He’s imagining Brienne thinking of that same _more_ he’s thinking of. 

“It’s hot out,” Brienne says over his shoulder, “I bet the water feels nice.”

“I bet it does.”

Jaime can’t imagine how water running down Brienne’s body will make _anything_ better, but he nods regardless. If he’s going to drown, then fuck it, he’ll go all the way. He watches her put the rest of her sunscreen on, mesmerized by her hands gliding over her freckled limbs, wishing he was the one doing it.

* * *

Brienne jokes about renting a jet ski, and Jaime foists his credit card at the college student working at the rental stand before she can protest. If they share, Jaime can drive, and Brienne will have to put her arms around him.

It’s a stupid fucking reason to rent a jet ski, nor does Jaime know how to drive one. 

The employee passes Jaime a clipboard. “Um, you need a personal watercraft license. We can do it here, but--”

Jaime’s about to ask what the hell that even _is_ when Brienne pulls out the waterproof bag where she keeps her phone, ID, and cards. “Here. It’s from Westeros, but it should be valid.”

After a cursory glance, the kid nods, “Looks good. You just need to sign the waiver.”

“Are you prepared for _everything?”_ Jaime whispers as they’re signing the paperwork.

“I grew up on an island. I could drive a boat before a car.”

“...Good point.”

Brienne driving ruins Jaime’s daydream of her clinging to him as they speed through the water. Instead, he holds onto her and tries not to lose his sunglasses or scream at how fast it feels like they’re going. She tenses a bit, but seems to relax because of the necessity of the contact. Jaime makes _absolutely_ certain that his hands don’t wander even the littlest bit.

It’s so fun that taking a picture doesn’t even occur to him.

After, when his hair is utterly windblown and salty from their earlier swim, they pack their stuff up and seek out a late lunch. Volantis’s beach features a sizable pier with food stalls and shops. Jaime gets distracted by the tourist traps, but Brienne seems entirely immune to Volantis keychains and hats and shirts.

The resort doesn’t reflect it, but the food scene in Volantis is pretty international. They end up buying bao from a cart run by a man from Yi Ti that neither of them can understand and eating at a picnic table. Brienne whips out her wallet and pays before Jaime has a chance; he nearly protests, but it seems important, so he lets her. 

“I wouldn’t have picked this, but it’s _delicious.”_ Jaime can’t tell what the filling is until he tastes sweet bean paste. There’s barbeque pork, too, and some sort of seafood and cabbage.

“There was a cart like this near school,” Brienne says, “Cheap _and_ tasty.”

Jaime isn’t an idiot (well, not about this, at least); for the vast majority of people, money is driving consideration behind everything. Brienne just seems very strict with herself in all things.

“I never asked you what your major was.”

Brienne looks a bit taken aback and finishes her bite of bao before replying. “Public Health. Oldtown University is connected to the Citadel, so the program is one of the best.”

“Damn,” Jaime scratches the back of his head, “I just studied business because my father told me to. I half-assed most of it.”

“You weren’t paying for it,” Brienne says, but she doesn’t sound bitter, “I’m thinking about grad school, but I’m not sure.”

“Too expensive?” 

“Yeah...I’m gonna take a year and think about it.”

“If only you knew an older man with more money that he could ever spend.” As soon as the joke is in the air between them, Jaime realizes it’s not a joke at all. Stroking a check for two years worth of tuition would be meaningless, just like the four nights in a beachfront resort or the finest imported wine. His father probably spends more than Brienne’s tuition on ostentatious shit to intimidate dinner guests.

“Are you...” Brienne covers face with her hands and starts laughing, “Are you trying to be my sugar daddy?”

“What _\--no!_ It was just...an idea.” Jaime stuffs a bao into his mouth to stop himself from saying anything else. _Of course Brienne wouldn’t want my help._ He can already tell she prides herself in her self-sufficiency. 

“I’ll manage,” she replies, and the conversation feels closed.

Jaime looks over the railing of the pier; the Summer Sea is more teal than blue, and it’s a very nice view. “Do you wanna take a picture?”

“The Summer Sea is pretty,” she answers; Jaime _thinks_ that means Brienne wants to.

With enough hand gestures, the man running the bao stall figures out what they’re asking. Jaime’s pretty confident he won’t dash off with his phone since it would mean leaving his business unattended. 

“I have an idea for this one,” Jaime whispers.

“Oh no.”

“You’ll love it.” Well, Jaime’s sure _he’ll_ love it. “Do you think you can carry me?”

Brienne looks him up and down, and Jaime fights off a shiver at her expression. “…Probably?”

“Steady yourself, then.”

When Jaime throws his arms around Brienne’s neck, she looks pretty offended at the idea that he’d be able to topple her. He jumps at her, wrapping his legs around her waist, Brienne wobbles but her stance is firm, and she grabs his thighs to hold him up. Jaime rests his chin on Brienne’s shoulder and laughs into her ear.

“Are you…” He can’t tell if she’s amused or frustrated, “Are you a _sloth?”_

“If you’d like me to be?”

“I’m not a tree.”

Jaime pulls back to find Brienne blushing furiously. He wants to tease her, but they have an agenda, so he stifles himself. “Kiss me, tall girl.”

The kiss is so chaste that it’s almost childish. Their kiss before they knew one another’s names was more passionate. This one is sweet, though, and Jaime wants to chase it. Instead, he holds out his hand to take his phone back. Brienne’s grip on him is thrillingly steady. 

“Thanks,” he says, even though the bao stand man can’t understand him. He laughs and waves at Jaime, which seems universal enough. 

“We owe that man a tip,” Brienne says, “For entertaining... _this.”_

“A dozen bao to go?”

“In a...in a minute.”

“Enjoying yourself?” Jaime teases, “That picture will _definitely_ raise Dad’s blood pressure. He has this narrow definition of what Lannister men should do.”

Brienne giggles, “Does this not qualify?” 

“Not in the slightest.”

* * *

Myrcella decides she needs to meet the girl in Uncle Jaime’s Instagram pictures. She’s _tall,_ and freckled, and her eyes are very pretty. It’s a little embarrassing to see Uncle Jaime kissing someone so many times, but he looks so happy that she keeps looking at the pictures anyway.

Everyone in the comments wants to know _who_ the girl is, but so far there’s been no information. Jaime doesn’t tag her his posts, so she remains a mystery. Eventually, Myrcella gets frustrated and texts her uncle.

_uncle jaime, who is she?_

The time difference between King’s Landing and Volantis is a lot, so Myrcella doesn’t expect a response for a while. It’s morning, but it might be too early.

In a few minutes, three dots appear in the chat. _Her name’s Brienne._

She types back _thats a pretty name. do u like her?_

Uncle Jaime responds _Kids shouldn’t ask those questions._ 😛

_u owe me for teaching u insta._

Myrcella’s confident Uncle Jaime will tell her. He always let Tommen and her stay up late when they were little, and all she has to do is bat her eyes at him to get what she wants.

 _I do. A lot, actually,_ he responds.

😍 _dont mess it up_

_...I’ll do my best lol._

She wants more information but knows not to ask too much at once. Uncle Jaime gets shy and grumpy about some things. Excited that Uncle Jaime is having such a good time on vacation, Myrcella screencaps the picture that makes her giggle the most. Brienne is picking Jaime up; the picture reminds Myrcella of a video she saw of a sloth clinging to a branch at the Lannisport Zoo.

Grandpa Tywin doesn’t text her much, even less than Mom does, but Myrcella attaches the picture anyway.

 _doesnt uncle jaime look like hes having fun?_ 😆

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week, Jaime and Brienne go to Lys, Selwyn makes his opinion known, and things heat up between them...but just a bit. 😉


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plane from Volantis to Lys barely feels like a commercial aircraft. It’s bigger than the puddle jumpers that take off from Tarth’s tiny airport but not by much. They sit in first class, which is really just four slightly larger seats in the front.
> 
> It _still_ has more legroom than her international flight from Storm’s End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy this week's chapter!

The plane from Volantis to Lys barely feels like a commercial aircraft. It’s bigger than the puddle jumpers that take off from Tarth’s tiny airport but not by much. They sit in first class, which is really just four slightly larger seats in the front.

It _still_ has more legroom than her international flight from Storm’s End.

Brienne stretches her legs out and drinks the complimentary fancy bottled water. She expects it to taste expensive, but it mostly just tastes like water. The bigger perk is the free wifi, a luxury Brienne couldn’t bring herself to splurge on during her international flight. It only takes a couple hours to get to Lys, so Brienne reads the news and does a crossword puzzle on her phone.

She _wants_ to check Jaime’s Instagram, but he’ll definitely notice. Besides, he’s looking at it himself anyway. Brienne glances over, but apparently she’s not subtle enough.

Jaime holds his phone out, “If you wanna look, just ask.” 

“I don’t.”

“Whatever you say, tall girl.” 

The screen is lit up with their picture from the day before at the pier. Looking at it gives Brienne a lot of _feelings_ and almost erases her irritation at the obnoxious nickname. Jaime doesn’t take his phone back, so Brienne snatches it from his hand. 

The image is just the same. Brienne tried (and mostly succeeded) at _not_ grabbing Jaime’s ass to hold him up. He wasn’t really that heavy, either--all she could focus on was how warm he was and how it felt to have his body so close to hers.

Brienne stares, lost in the memory, at the phone screen until Jaime starts laughing. “Has anyone ever told you,” she tears her eyes away, “that you’re _annoying?”_

“Well, _you_ have, at least once a day since we met.”

“It’s still true.” Brienne doesn’t really mind, and Jaime makes her laugh more than anyone she’s ever met. Her friends have accused her of having a shitty sense of humor.

Jaime leans across the armrest to look at his phone. “That’s our most popular photo yet, you know. Look at those _thousands_ of likes.”

“I don’t get your followers.”

“It’s cute,” he explains, “because it’s reversed.”

All Brienne can see is the fact that she’s strong enough to lift a grown man, which isn’t very feminine. “It was...fun.”

“A new concept for you?”

_“No.”_

Jaime takes his phone back and swipes away from Instagram. “Myrcella must’ve texted my father about us. She’s a sweet kid, so I’m sure she just wanted to share, but _look.”_

On the screen is a literal _wall_ of text. Brienne reads through it quickly, catching snippets like _comporting yourself in a manner disgraceful to the family name,_ and _you’re my first-born son,_ and _we’ll discuss this when you return._

Brienne says, “Wow. Does he usually talk to you like you’re a naughty kid?”

“Oh yeah. I’m forever ten years old, and this _really_ has his panties in a twist,” Jaime pauses and glances to Brienne, “That’s not why I asked you. I know I said that already, but I don’t want you to think that I’m...mocking you or trying to get other people to--”

“I k-know that,” she smiles at him, “Doing that wouldn’t benefit you, either.”

“I _am_ willing to throw myself under the bus to spite Tywin Lannister, but I wouldn’t drag anyone to the seven hells with me.”

“I can handle a few unkind words thrown at me, but you’ve got--” _Power._ Privilege. None of this is any of Brienne’s business. “Why do you let him?”

“Lots of reasons, but I’m not sure any of them are good.” Jaime leans back in his seat but lets Brienne keep his phone. “I want to be able to look after my niece and nephew, and if I cut ties with my father, I’ll lose that.”

“That one is good.”

Jaime smiles, “It’s the best one. I’m afraid my father will blacklist me from getting a job anywhere else, not that I even know _what_ that would be. The Lannisters have their fingers in _everything._ And you’re gonna judge me for this one, but I’m…”

“You’re what?”

“I’m used to a certain lifestyle.” 

He sounds disappointed in himself. Brienne always thought the kind of wealth Jaime had did nothing but breed character flaws. 

“With time and necessity, you can become used to all sorts of things.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” he says, “Maybe you could show me a normal day?”

“In _Lys?”_ Brienne is pretty sure she can’t afford to _walk_ in Lys.

“...Yeah, you’re probably right.”

* * *

“Welcome to the Perfumed Garden Resort and Spa, Mr. and Mrs. Lannister.”

Brienne’s never elegant, but even a short airplane ride leaves her feeling stale. The woman behind the reception counter is _stunningly_ coiffed. The entire lobby is stunning, honestly. The hotel in Volantis felt cosmopolitan in its elegance, but the Perfumed Garden is much older. She read about the history as the plane was landing, but every detail flies out Brienne’s head at _Mr. and Mrs. Lannister._

While she’s struck dumb, Jaime seems to be handling things just fine. 

“That’s us!’ Jaime says, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and squeezing. “Here and ready to relax.”

The receptionist giggles demurely, “We’re very good at that. I hope you had a pleasant flight.”

“First-class helped,” Jaime replies, “We’re _so_ glad to be here, aren’t we, sweetling?”

Every inch of goodwill Brienne felt towards Jaime on their flight withers up and dies at _sweetling._ The hotel assuming they were married is logical--this _was_ supposed to be Jaime’s honeymoon, but he didn’t have to ham it up.

 _“Sweetling?”_ he repeats.

“I--yes, we’re _very_ excited,” she says the words between clenched teeth.

“We’ll have your luggage sent right to your room, Mr. and Mrs. Lannister. Please call us if you need _anything.”_

Jaime takes their keycards, and they make their way across the lobby. Brienne stares at the palm trees and the plush couches and tries to get a handle on her irritation and certainly noticeable blush.

The room is beautiful, but that’s not what draws Brienne’s eye; ostentatious, fussy things all start to look the same after a while. What Brienne notices is the bottle of champagne on ice, and the chocolates, and the dozen red roses, and the card meant to congratulate a woman who’s not her. She stands there while Jaime inspects the room, turning on the bathroom light and throwing open the balcony door.

“Brienne!” he yells, “We have a _private beach_ entrance.” Jaime’s grinning when he comes back inside. At her lack of enthusiasm, he asks, “What’s up?”

“This isn’t...this isn’t for me. It doesn’t feel right, being here, enjoying this.”

Jaime comes up to her, “It’s a waste not to.”

“In the lobby, why did you…”

“Should I have told her we met four days ago? Would that’ve seemed less weird?”

“N-No,” she shakes her head, “But you didn’t have to do it like _that.”_

“Oh, I thought it was funny.”

Brienne picks up the card, but all it says is _Mr. and Mrs. Jaime Lannister._ There’s nothing to tell her who the mystery fiance was; she would’ve just become Mrs. Jaime Lannister. “I’ve always _hated_ this. The wife has a name; she doesn’t become Mrs. Husband _.”_

Jaime watches her, expression unreadable. “Do you want to know?”

“If I’m reaping the benefit of what was supposed to be hers. If I’m...If I’m pretending, then yes, if you’re okay with telling me.”

“Her name is Lysa. As you know, dear old dad chose her. It was nothing, truly. We went out to dinner a few times, and I let a tailor stab me with pins for a custom suit. There was nothing emotional about it.” Jaime pulls out his phone and taps at it before holding it out. “Here, you can read about the scene we made when I ended it.”

It’s a tabloid article. There’s a picture of a woman who must be Lysa screaming outside a restaurant. The headline is equally sensationalist. Brienne closes the screen. “I don’t need to see that.”

“You’re really not interested in gossip, are you?”

Brienne shakes her head.

“Lysa was married before, to a man old enough to be her father, probably chosen by _her_ father. I don’t blame her for the way she acted, but I never wanted to marry her.”

“Her first husband, was he older than you?” 

“Compared to you? _Oh yeah._ I’m not your father’s age...right?”

“I have an older brother. What do _you_ think?” 

“Right. Of course,” he’s grinning, “There’s probably a line, right? Somewhere?”

“Somewhere.” Brienne has no idea what the line is, only that they crossed it on the Long Bridge days ago.

Jaime takes the card and drops it into the waste bin. “There. Now it’s just a nice room, and we can have a nice time. Do you want champagne?”

“....It’s not even noon, Jaime.”

“Fine. We’ll eat, then go for a walk, and _then_ drink the champagne when it’s a more respectable hour to drink on a fucking tropical vacation.”

“Okay.”

“Hold my hand so people don’t get suspicious that you aren’t Mrs. Lannister.”

“I wouldn’t change my name,” Brienne takes Jaime’s hand, “but a walk sounds nice.”

* * *

The Perfumed Garden is decorated for Sevenmas. 

Snow on Tarth isn’t frequent; she’s used to a rainy, windy Sevenmas. Brienne, her father, and Galladon would bundle up, usually in raincoats, on Sevenmas Eve and go to the small sept near their house for the midnight service.

Jaime is looking at the same palm tree strung with multicolored twinkle lights. “Looks weird, doesn’t it?”

“It...does,” she agrees, “It’s kinda...wrong, somehow.”

“Would a pine tree look weirder here, though?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ve spent the holidays in King’s Landing for so long that I haven’t seen snow in _ages.”_

“Tarth just gets cold rain,” Brienne replies, “I’m kinda glad to be away from it this year.”

“Family stuff?”

“No. I just thought it might be nice to see something different, and I was supposed to be with friends.”

“Now you’re stuck with me, tall girl,” Jaime grins, “but your accommodations are _much_ improved.”

It doesn’t feel like getting stuck; it feels like Brienne got lucky, and it has nothing to do with the niceness of the resort. For all Jaime irritates her (and _seven hells_ he’s good at it), Brienne is having fun. There’s a nagging voice in the back of her mind that’s growing louder, telling her she _likes_ Jaime.

 _Just enjoy yourself._ Not everything has to be serious; she doesn’t need to extrapolate the meaning or the endgame behind everything.

“I’m having fun.”

“You’re better company than every Lannister family dinner I’ve been to _combined.”_

* * *

They spend the afternoon relaxing.

Brienne tries to use the time productively by reading the book she hadn’t touched since the airplane ride from Westeros. It works for a couple pages before she finds herself staring at the sea, thinking of nothing.

At least she made an attempt at productivity; Jaime stretched out on the fancy, cushioned lounge chair and promptly fell asleep in the sun. Brienne adjusted the umbrella so Jaime wouldn’t turn into a lobster. Then, she stared at him for a bit, trying not to be charmed by how boyish he looked sleeping peacefully.

Frustrated, Brienne tosses her book down and grabs her phone. She completely forgot to take it off airplane mode when they landed. When she does, there are some emails, a text from Margaery, and probably a million new messages in the still-muted group chat. There’s a call from her father _and_ text.

_Galladon showed me the Instagram…_

He always ends his texts with ellipses, which normally amuses Brienne, but today it just seems ominous. There’s a second text, after the missed call, that says _Call me…_

Brienne’s heart pounds as the phone rings. “Brienne,” her father says, “have you been ignoring me?”

“No, Dad, I was just busy and on a plane.” There’s a hint of guilt in her father’s tone, and it always works on her.

_“A plane?”_

“Just to Lys, Dad.” Every detail she adds to the story is going to dig the hole deeper.

“That wasn’t in your itinerary,” he says.

“I know, but I wasn’t supposed to go alone, either. Plans change.”

Her father takes a deep breath, “I watched you budget this trip at our kitchen table. The man from the pictures, is he the one paying for everything?”

The budget had been miserly and filled with concessions. She’s also a terrible liar. “...Yes.”

“Is that...is that why you’re _kissing_ him, Brienne? So he’ll pay for your vacation?”

“It’s not like that--”

 _“Brienne,”_ He sounds like when she was a kid, and he used to scold her, “Are you _sleeping_ with him? ”

“I’m not!” Brienne outright yells this time; Jaime stirs a bit from the noise but doesn’t wake. “Even if I were, I’m old enough to decide that for myself.”

“Can you put him on the phone?”

“So you can yell at him for ‘taking advantage’ of me?” Brienne tries not to raise her voice again. “Dad. It’s fine. _I’m_ fine. I’ll just--I’ll be home in a couple days. I’m sorry for not getting back to you.”

“Honey,” his voice softens, “Just...be careful, okay?”

“I will, Dad.”

Brienne hangs up the phone; reading her book doesn’t come any easier.

* * *

“Tall girl, you’re awfully quiet.”

It’s after dinner. Brienne is sitting on the edge of the giant bed in their room. It seems like it might be _too_ soft. Jaime sits down next to her, and Brienne tosses her book aside for what must be the fifth time.

“I’m always quiet,” Brienne spoke the least out of all her friends and found smalltalk exhausting. 

“Not like this. You’re practically sulking.” 

That Jaime can parse meaning and find distinction between her bouts of silence is surprising. It doesn’t mean she wants to talk about it, though. “I’m fine.” The words come out too sharp.

“That’s not a _fine_ tone,” he moves closer, “There’s been a rain cloud over your head since I fell asleep on the beach chair. Thank you, by the way, for moving the umbrella.”

“You’re welcome.”

“What’s eating at you?”

“Galladon showed my dad saw our Instagram posts. _”_ Although, how Galladon found out, Brienne isn’t sure.

 _“Oh._ I take it he didn’t approve of his little girl kissing the infamous Jaime Lannister?”

Brienne snorts, “I think infamous is a bit much, but Dad _did_ ask to talk to you.”

Jaime visibly swallows, “I take it you...declined to let him.”

“I decided to spare my vacation....” _Fling. Hook-up._ “...traveling companion that indignity.”

“Thanks.”

“When I choose something he doesn’t like, he does this disappointment-masked-as-concern thing.”

“Could it just be concern?” Jaime asks. “That must be nice. Tywin Lannister only cares when someone makes him look bad or doesn’t do what he wants.”

“Dad raised Galladon and me alone, and it must’ve been hard.” He scrimped and saved and sacrificed and never made them feel bad for it. “He said this isn’t like me, and he’s not wrong. Maybe I didn’t want my fantasy disrupted.”

 _“This_ is your fantasy?” Jaime leans a bit closer to her, “Handsome stranger. Free luxury vacation. _Kissing._ I thought you were an independent, self-sufficient woman.”

“Maybe it’s nice, sometimes, to not have to worry about where every bit of money goes.”

“I’ve never thought about having to think about it.” 

Brienne _almost_ snaps at him for his oblivious privilege, but Jaime looks thoughtful, and her desire to scold him evaporates. Instead, she tells Jaime the truth. “It’s not fun.”

“If this is your fantasy, what do you want right now?’

She can’t tell if Jaime is talking about something money can buy or about himself. She’s certain he’s confident enough for either. “I-I don’t know.”

“C’mon. _Anything._ Ask and it’s yours.”

No one has ever offered her, freely, as many things as Jaime has; it leaves Brienne a bit bewildered. _There’s nothing special about me._ She wasn’t beautiful, nor was she the smartest or wittiest. She had her pride and her ethics, but they just made her inflexible.

“I’m _tired,”_ Brienne says, “and, in a couple days, it’ll be just--c-can I kiss you?”

The grin on Jaime’s face appears slowly, like the first rays of sun cresting over the water. His eyes crinkle at the corners as he laughs, and Brienne’s heart beats rapidly in her chest. “You don’t have to ask; just tackle me into submission.”

Brienne doesn’t exactly tackle Jaime, but she does push him onto his back on the bed in her haste to kiss him. Jaime lets out a surprised noise that’s immediately absorbed. She’s sitting on her knees, leaning over him, and Jaime takes her face between his hands like he’s trying to keep her near.

It’s the first time Brienne’s initiated a kiss. In Chroyane, the second kiss confused her because Jaime had already taken his picture. The kiss on the beach was much the same; Brienne felt the tension between them as she rubbed the sunscreen into Jaime’s back, caressing his skin until she forced herself to pry her hands away. 

The tension between them has to go _somewhere._

Jaime seems content with a slow kiss. He holds her still as she leans over him and doesn’t push beyond the gentle pressure of his lips against hers. Occasionally, he breaks away, brushing their noses together and sighing. It’s sweet, and surprisingly shy, and not what she’s craving at all. Brienne brushes her tongue against Jaime’s lips, and he makes a noise that sounds very encouraging.

Something in the mood shifts. Suddenly, they’re trying to devour one another, any lingering tentativeness blown away. Jaime tugs Brienne until she’s half-sprawled on top of him and wraps one arm around her back. Brienne’s legs are still curled awkwardly under her, but it doesn’t matter. Jaime’s tongue moves against hers with urgency. She does her damndest to keep up, running her tongue against Jaime’s and nipping at his lips when he tries to break the contact.

Brienne knows she has a competitive streak, but it’s sure as hell never been tested in this capacity.

It becomes a game, but Brienne isn’t sure what victory looks like. Jaime kisses her neck at one point, lips hot against her skin. She finally gets to test how it feels to sink her fingers into Jaime’s golden-blond curls (Brienne was right--they’re _just_ the right length). He pushes her onto her back, and Brienne feels bold enough to slide her hands under his t-shirt where it’s ridden up.

Eventually, Jaime drops his head against her chest, breathing heavily. He doesn’t say anything, and Brienne is too nervous to try and break the silence. She can’t relax, either. Jaime is going to notice she’s so hyped up she feels like she’s vibrating.

 _“Damn,_ tall girl, _”_ Jaime whistles, which sends Brienne into a nervous giggling fit. He waits for her to stop, but when the end doesn’t seem forthcoming, Jaime says, “Is kissing me _that_ funny?”

Brienne takes a deep breath, “I’m nervous, and you _whistled,_ over _me,_ and I just--”

“Why not over you? My brother goes on and on about younger women, and I always call him gross.”

“If he goes after them _just_ because they’re young, then that’s gross.” Margaery was the one who flirted with older guys, even though she _definitely_ didn’t need the money. “Some women like it, though.”

Jaime tosses his arm over her and cuddles closer, “Probably not you, though.”

“No one...fawns over me. I’m too…” In high school, Brienne would’ve filled the pause with _ugly,_ but she made an effort to not insult herself. It worked most of the time. “I’m not what people want.”

“People are missing out, then.” Brienne can’t hide her face, so she closes her eyes in embarrassment instead. Jaime keeps talking, “This was supposed to be the romantic, intimate half of the honeymoon.”

“I-I could tell.”

“We should spend it _just_ like this.” 

* * *

In the day since Galladon showed him Jaime Lannister’s Instagram, Selwyn has looked at the damned thing at least a dozen times. He tries to do it subtly, but Galladon seems to appear, smirking over his shoulder, each time he opens the webpage.

“Dad, you’ll have an easier time if you download the app.”

“And what in the seven hells would I do with the app?”

Galladon’s grin is pretty insufferable. “You’d have an easier time stalking your daughter, obviously.”

Selwyn glances at his phone; Brienne and Jaime Lannister aren’t kissing in this photo. Instead, they’re standing in front of a palm tree wrapped in colored lights. The picture is another selfie. Brienne looks like she just started laughing, and she has a bit of a suntan. Jaime Lannister has a dopey grin on his face, like he’s happy at having made Brienne laugh.

The picture is labeled with several pound signs Galladon explained were called hashtags. Most of them were stupid, but Selwyn keeps staring at the one that says #CoupleGoals and feeling his blood pressure rise.

He locks his screen and tosses the phone on the couch. “This isn’t like Brienne, is it? She’s never even introduced us to a guy. Is there some secret side of her I’ve never noticed?”

“I don’t know, Dad. She hasn’t lived at home in four years; she’s had experiences we don’t know about.” 

_“Experiences,”_ Selwyn repeats. Galladon takes after his mother; she was always calm and rational, and he was the hotheaded one. After her death, he tried to be more like his wife.

“Are you upset your _little girl_ is kissing someone, Dad?”

“Don’t make me sound like one of _those_ dads,” Selwyn snaps, “I know Brienne is an adult. She can make her own choices.”

“I know you’re just being a dad, but I want to point out what you’re _close_ to sounding like.”

Galladon sounds critical. There’s a part of Selwyn who will always see Brenne as his little eight year old, but that’s not what keeps eating at him. It’s not even that a quick internet search told him that Jaime was a decade-and-a-half older than his daughter. “She just....looks like a different person.”

“She looks like she’s having a blast, honestly,” Galladon says, “I’m a little jealous.”

“Do _both_ my children want to kiss Jaime Lannister?”

“I meant the free luxury vacation, but I guess I wouldn’t say no.”

Selwyn sighs and unlocks his phone again; his daughter is still smiling at him from the picture. “Maybe I don’t know her like I thought I did.”

“You’ve always had trouble with Brienne, Dad, you’re both really stubborn. Just talk to her.” Galladon makes it sound so simple.

“I’ll call her tomorrow and apologize. A terrible, _terrible_ thought occurs to him. “What if Brienne brings Jaime Lannister _here?”_

Galladon shrugs, “Then old Roelle next door will _really_ have a reason to peer out her windows.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time, Jaime and Brienne tour Lys, get _really_ friendly with each other, and Tywin starts meddling.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We’ve been doing what I want so far, but what do you want?”
> 
> The answer is right in front of Jaime and _very,_ very obvious. “You.”
> 
> _“M-Me?”_
> 
> “Of course you.” It’s almost unbelievable Brienne hasn’t noticed. “Did you miss the kissing?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here it is. 😏

Jaime’s eyes are barely open, and Brienne is already sitting up next to him in bed reading her guidebook. Her knees are bent, and she’s using them to prop the book up. He tries to get her attention with an exaggerated stretch, but it doesn’t break her concentration.

 _Maybe I’ve gotten too used to attention from others._ People tended to leap to their feet when he entered a room. It’s not a secret to Jaime as to why.

Brienne doesn’t give a shit, and Jaime kind of likes that about her. Since she’s not paying attention, Jaime rolls onto his side to get an uninterrupted look at her legs. Only her feet are tucked under the duvet, so it’s a good view. Jaime wants to slide his hand over her nicely-shaped calf, or under the hem of her shorts. 

Instead, he pokes her in the thigh with his index finger.

Brienne glares at him, “I’m _reading.”_

“I can see that,” Jaime replies, “I thought we already decided on today.”

“There’s a _whole city._ We didn’t talk about anything except-- _oh.”_ Brienne’s protest dies, and the blushing-while-glaring is a good look on her.

“I’ve got everything I want to look at right here.” He cups his hand over her bare knee for emphasis. Lys is a city, and every city looks the same after a while. Besides, he could come back next month if he wanted.

Brienne’s expression falls a bit. _She can’t come back._ She wouldn’t have even made it to Lys without him. Jaime wants to give her whatever she wants even more.

“What’s on your list, Brienne?”

“Oh, um,” Brienne turns the book outward to a picture of the Lys waterfront. The architecture is very fussy. “I was originally taking an overnight bus to Myr. Looking at Lys pissed me off because I couldn’t afford it alone, so I stopped researching when everyone bailed.”

Jaime sits up and leans against Brienne’s shoulder, “Then I’m glad we ran into each other.”

“M-Me too.”

“You pick, and I pay.” He says it mostly to see if Brienne will protest.

She opens her mouth then closes it, “The only thing in my budget is staying in the room. Maybe walking through the city not touching anything, hoping they don’t notice ‘broke college grad’ stamped on my forehead.”

 _“Hmmmm._ That’s no way to experience Lys.” Jaime leans in to kiss her; Brienne responds so naturally it seems impossible that they’ve only known each other a few days. “Does your guidebook mention good photo spots?”

“You know, it _does.”_

* * *

Jaime wants to take Brienne with him on every vacation. She’d probably make touring King’s Landing fun, even though he’s lived there for fifteen years. He wouldn’t mind seeing Tarth, too, or Oldtown, if she were the one reciting trivia.

There’s a dangerous trend that all these thoughts have--Jaime wants to spend more time with Brienne.

Lys is less cosmopolitan than Volantis and has fewer tourists. The blood of Old Valyria is stronger in Lys, and lots of the people they pass remind Jaime of the paintings of ancient Targaryen rulers in the museum in the Red Keep in King’s Landing--white-haired and purpled-eyed. Most of the international presence in the city is centered around trade, and the waterfront is lined with designer boutiques and foreign fashion labels.

Jaime gets a bit distracted window shopping, but Brienne turns her eyes to the sea beyond stone walls. It’s even greener than in Volantis, and filled with colorful fish and bright boats with striped hulls. 

“Do you want to shop?”

Brienne turns back to him, “Not really, no. They’ll probably think I’m a shoplifter if I walk in any of those stores.”

“Not with me they won’t,” Jaime replies, “and that’s not fair of them.”

“I don’t care about designer stuff.”

“That’s...not a thing most women would say.” Jaime knew that about Brienne from the first day they spent together. “My brother’s probably bought a dozen five-thousand dragon handbags for his arm piece of the weekend.”

“There’s no such thing as ‘most women,’ and generalizations aren’t helpful or accurate.”

Her rebuke stings a bit, but Jaime’s almost grown to welcome Brienne’s callouts. Few people challenge him, and it’s probably a good thing that should happen more. “You know, you’re right.”

“I am,” Brienne says, ”and I don’t need anything; being here is enough.”

“I would’ve moped in the hotel by myself, drinking champagne straight from the bottle in the boxers.”

“I think,” she laughs, “I saw that on Instagram.”

“Oh, you definitely did.”

* * *

They spend the better part of the morning in a small museum looking at old Lysene artifacts. Before the Free Cities unified their currency nearly a century ago, Lysene coins had the image of a naked woman embossed on them. Museums don’t usually interest Jaime, but Brienne dutifully reads every placard and sign, so he does the same.

“Hey, tall girl, did you know,” Jaime says after, “that back in the day, slaves outnumbered free citizens in Lys three-to-one?”

Brienne’s tone is gently mocking, _“‘Back in the day?’_ Do you mean back in _your_ day? Because that’s what a phrase like that sounds like. The economy of the Free Cities was built on the backs of slaves, _long_ after Westeros had abolished the practice. Also, you _just_ read that, and I did, too.”

“I wanted you to know I was paying attention,” he replies, “Lys was known for bed slaves in particular.”

He expects Brienne to blush, but she's in full explanation mode. “The Free Cities have a complicated history, but Westeros does, too. People like to moralize, but atrocities were committed all around.”

 _To be young and principled._ Jaime was probably like that, once. Brienne’s focused determination, even in analyzing the things around her, is a bit motivating. “Be careful, Brienne, or you’ll inspire a jaded old man.”

 _“Good._ You have every means to--” She stops and shakes her head, scowling. “The temple of Yndros should be up ahead.”

Jaime lets the conversation drop. “There’s a big statue, apparently.”

Lys never subscribed to a single religion, so the city is filled with temples to a variety of gods, Yndros of the Twilight among them. The temple is palatial and ornate, like all of the old architecture in Lys, and painted a pale lavender that’s nearly white. The entrance to the temple is supported with fluted columns that Jaime’s certain he couldn’t reach around. No one worships here anymore, but there’s more obvious tourists than anywhere they’ve been yet.

The statue of Yndros is so tall Jaime has to crane his neck to see the top and ends up staring at the afternoon sun. Like all the statues in Lys, Yndros is _very_ naked.

Brienne looks upward, too. “Did you know--”

“Wait!” Jaime waves his hands, “Let me do the trivia. Yndros of the Twilight takes a male form by day and a female one by night. _Back in the day--”_ He pauses, and Brienne sighs, “People believed Yndros’s acolytes could change their sex _while_ fucking.”

The word _fucking_ makes Brienne turn pink. Then, it takes a moment to make his brain separate the concepts of Brienne and fucking. It's an appealing combination.

“G-Good job.”

Jaime grins, “Sounds kinky to me.”

She ignores him, “When Larra Rogare married Viserys Targaryen and moved to King’s Landing, the smallfolk thought _she_ turned into a man at night and went to the brothels on the Street of Silk. They also thought she did blood sacrifices, so some of that probably isn’t accurate.”

“You _really_ should join a trivia team.” Jaime points to the statue, “Yndros has a cock on this side, but the other side should have the form of a woman.”

They walk around the statue and Brienne looks up, “Yep, those are breasts.”

“Which side is our photo op?”

“Um, this one,” Brienne decides.

“Tits out it is.”

Jaime has the delight of hearing Brienne ask a beautiful Lyseni woman to take their picture. Her limited Old Valyrian is the proper, stilted kind learned in a classroom and probably quite different from the Lysene dialect. The only word he recognizes is _boyfriend,_ which Brienne explained was more like _lover._

Brienne jogs back to him, "She'll do it. I told her to try and get the whole statue, or maybe I called her mother ugly."

"Ah, dialectical differences."

"Exactly. How should we--?"

"We don't have to kiss." Jaime _wants_ to, though.

"It's a tradition.” A tradition of six days, apparently. Brienne sounds solemn, like some knight of old swearing an oath rather than kissing for an Instagram post. 

He decides to spare Brienne the theatrics this time, taking both her hands instead. Brienne watches him, clearly expecting him to fling himself at her. Instead, Jaime squeezes her hands, goes up on his toes, and kisses Brienne, holding still long enough for the picture to be taken.

After, Brienne whispers, “That was...totally normal.”

“See, I’m capable of _some_ decorum.”

* * *

Room service brings them an entire _pitcher_ of some frozen, smoothie-like concoction that tastes like rum and citrus. Jaime pours two glasses, and the pitcher _still_ looks full. He orders a bunch of food off the menu while Brienne is on the phone with her dad, and she can’t ask about the prices. 

When Brienne sits down on the chair around their tiny fire pit, Jaime passes her a drink. He’s no bartender, but the pineapple and tiny umbrella he stuck in the top up the aesthetic. He snaps a picture. “Did your conversation go okay?”

“It...did. He apologized for yesterday, which was unexpected.”

“Do our fathers have a lack of apologizing in common?” Jaime hopes that’s the only thing.

“Maybe? He’s hotheaded, and I’m stubborn. Galladon says we're alike. Mom was the equalizing force, but she died when I was little.”

“My mother died when I was young, too.”

Brienne takes a gulp of her drink, “It sucks, but Dad tried really hard, and it wasn’t easy.”

“Mine hired nannies and tutors and sent us to boarding school because he’s just a selfish prick.” Jaime doesn’t want to talk about it, so he passes Brienne a plate of fish tacos. “Here, have a taco.”

She watches him as she takes the plate, but she doesn’t ask more. The conversation lulls entirely, and the only sound is the crackling fire. The food is predictably delicious. Jaime pours another drink from the pitcher for Brienne, then himself. He wants the silence to be companionable; he wants to enjoy the last bit of his vacation before returning to King’s Landing and dealing with the fallout of his broken engagement, but Tywin Lannister keeps invading his mind.

Jaime’s only a _bit_ buzzed when he says, “You know, our childhood fucking sucked _.”_ Brienne looks up, startled, but Jaime continues. “Both of my siblings drink too much, and none of us have functional relationships.”

“You have access to everything you could ever want or need.”

“Money hasn’t made any of us happy.”

“But you don’t have to worry about how all the tourism on Tarth affects the property taxes for the people who’ve lived there for generations.” Brienne rises off the chair and balls her hands into fists. “You don’t have to decide if the new roof can wait a year, or see your dad at the table in the middle of the night looking at bills.”

“That doesn’t mean my life is charmed and worry free.” Jaime stands up, too, not wanting Brienne to utterly tower over him as she moralizes at him.

“You could do _good_ things with your money.” Brienne takes a deep breath through her nose. “If I...If I was rich, I’d give it all away. There’s so many people who need help and good things to invest in.”

“Mom loved charity work.”

“These aren’t things that should even _need_ charity, and they wouldn’t if there weren’t so many systemic problems.” Brienne unclenches her fists and crosses her arms. “Your father’s a bit like a cartoon villain.”

Jaime laughs, “He has a pile of gold he sleeps on.”

“That hoarding isn’t right,” Brienne pauses, “But he’s your dad, so you want his attention. That’s why we’re taking all these pictures.”

“To piss him off.”

“Is that really it, Jaime?”

 _No._ He sits back down. “Your father saw the pictures and was worried about you. Maybe it was overbearing, but I--I’m envious. Mine will just be pissed because he thinks I look like a clown, and it reflects on him. I don’t think he’s _ever_ checked on me, or any of us, in thirty-seven years.”

Brienne kneels next to his chair in the sand; the fire is reflected in her blue eyes. “Jaime, are you okay?”

Knowing no one asks and having someone ask turn out to be two very different things. Jaime honestly doesn’t know what to say. Brienne doesn’t seem bothered by the wait, or when he answers, “I don’t know. I try not to think too hard about it.”

“You told me the first night that you were miserable.”

“I was...hoping you forgot about that.”

“Sure didn’t.”

“I’ve been having fun with you.” Jaime’s not much for introspection, but he knows that much. “Even when you take me to task over shit.”

“No one _likes_ that. I’m overbearing. My friends roll their eyes.”

Jaime puts his hands on Brienne’s shoulders, “Maybe it _should_ annoy me, but it doesn’t. I don’t think it’s bad to be passionate about things.”

“...Passionate,” she repeats, smiling a little. “We’ve been doing what I want so far, but what do _you_ want?”

The answer is right in front of Jaime and very, _very_ obvious. “You.”

_“M-Me?”_

“Of course you.” It’s almost unbelievable Brienne hasn’t noticed. “Did you miss the kissing?”

“No, but that doesn’t mean--”

“Yeah, it kinda does. One drink and a heart-to-heart, and here I am blabbing.” Jaime isn’t drunk enough not to feel the sting of her rejection, should it come. “I mean fucking; in case I was vague.”

Brienne blanches, _“Seven hells._ You weren’t vague.”

“Well, I thought last night made it pretty clear, too.“

“I wondered. Well...maybe I hoped.” Brienne reaches up between them and touches his cheek; Jaime swears her hand trembles the slightest bit. “I-I’d like that, too.”

When Brienne presses her palm against his cheek to cup his face, Jaime learns the hand he _thought_ was trembling definitely is. She’s the one who initiates the kiss, but it’s much shyer than the fervent ones they traded the night before.

Even as his cock makes his swim trunks tighter, even as he pulls Brienne’s salt-coated hair free from the elastic holding it up and runs his fingers through the tangles, Jaime forces himself to wait. Brienne's the one who meets his tongue with her own, and she’s the one who moves so she’s kneeling between his knees and slides her hand under his swim trunks to brush the tips of her fingers against his inner thigh.

Jaime walks his fingers down her chest, going slowly enough that Brienne could stop him. When she doesn’t, he reaches under Brienne’s cover up and palms her breast through her swimsuit, finding the peak and teasing it to hardness. Brienne gasps into the kiss, and he wants to rip the swimsuit off her, to see what her skin tastes like combined with the salt from the Summer Sea.

“Brienne?” She looks up at him (it’s fucking _weird_ for that to be reversed), blue eyes wide and nervous and maybe a bit annoyed. _Does she hate being interrupted that much?_ Whether it’s the fact that her youth shines through, or some old-fashioned propriety (that will probably piss her right off), Jaime asks, “Are you a virgin?”

Every emotion but irritation is snuffed out, “Are _you?”_

“W-what? _No.”_

“Then what does it matter? It’s a patriarchal, antiquated construct, anyway.”

“You’re twenty-two.” She tries to turn away, so he holds her with the hand still tangled in her hair. “It’s a valid question.”

“Is there a certain age where you wouldn’t ask?” Brienne takes both her hands off him and rests them on her knees. “Were _you_ a virgin at twenty-two? I bet no one asked you.”

The question makes _his_ face go up in flames, and Jaime fucking prays Brienne doesn’t notice. “I...I wasn’t but only barely.”

 _“Really?”_ she blurts, “I’ve seen your thirst trap Instagram posts!” 

“Are you saying I _look_ like a slut?” He doesn’t care, but catching Brienne in a trap will be satisfying. “That’s _quite_ judgy of you, miss moral high ground.”

Brienne lurches forward, forehead bumping Jaime’s sternum. “I just--”

“I’m just teasing you, you know.”

“I get pissed when people make assumptions,” she mumbles, “So I’m a hypocrite.”

Jaime scratches his fingers against Brienne’s scalp, affection bubbling up inside him. “I was just trying to be considerate.”

“I-I’m not, and...thank you, for asking. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

Before he thinks too much about it, Jaime leans down and kisses the top of her head. “Wanna take this inside? I’m not sure I wanna to test the privacy of this private beach.”

“Me either.”

Brienne stands up and, blushing quite intensely, holds out her hand.

* * *

Jaime slams the sliding glass door so hard it bounces back open. Brienne looks reproachful, but he kisses her. Amidst their fumbling, the door ends up latched. She wraps her arms around Jaime’s neck, and the entire thing is so delightful, so encouraging, that he _finally_ reaches under the edge of Brienne’s swimsuit at her hip and touches her. 

The slight buzz from the frozen cocktails makes _everything_ seem like the best idea. Brienne presses hot, open-mouthed kisses to his jaw, and Jaime feels like his grip on reality is slipping. He wants to grab Brienne’s ass and grind into her. Brienne must be fine with it because when Jaime _does_ cup her ass through the silky fabric of her swimsuit, she giggles. It’s the same tipsy giggle from the first night they ate dinner together. She raises her leg and wraps it around his waist, pressing them as close as possible.

There’s no way Brienne can miss how hard his cock is. Her show of possessiveness makes him ache even more.

“Let me carry you to bed,” Jaime whispers into her ear, “It’ll be romantic.”

“...Not if you drop me.”

Brienne’s _all_ muscle, but when she wraps her other leg around his waist, Jaime has no trouble navigating them to the bed. She even manages to tug the shades closed and give them some actual privacy.

Jaime sits on the bed with Brienne across his lap, feeling quite smug. “You weigh _nothing.”_

“I’m like...two inches taller than you.”

“Do you ever wear heels?” She’d positively _tower_ over him then. Jaime grabs Brienne’s hips and pulls her closer while he ponders the notion.

“Not usually.” Brienne shies away from him a bit, so Jaime kisses her. When she’s free to speak, she continues, “The guy that I--my last boyfriend...he got pissed the one time I wore heels.”

 _“Please_ say you did that on purpose.”

“....Yes.”

“Good for you.”

Brienne giggles again, “You endorse my pettiness.”

“I endorse _all_ sorts of things,” Jaime slides his hands over the muscles in her back, “Like getting you out of his _highly_ utilitarian swimsuit.”

Despite still wanting to rip the swimsuit off, Jaime puts his lips to Brienne breast and finds her nipple through the thin fabric. The swimsuit has no padding, nothing to accentuate anything, and Jame loves the access. He switches to her other breast, replacing his mouth with the pad of his thumb. Brienne scrunches her eyes shut and lets her head fall back, encouraging Jaime with little pants and moans.

When Jaime wants to see Brienne more than he wants to tease her, he rolls the fabric up and tastes the salt on her bare skin instead; she’s _covered_ in freckles. 

Brienne clutches his shoulders and delights Jaime by rolling her hips. Then, like she’s reading his mind, Brienne shrugs off her cover up and forces Jaime to break away by trying to rip his shirt over his head. He does the same with her swimsuit top, casting it aside. Her eyes flicker over his bare chest. Every serotonin boost he’s ever gotten from an Instagram post, every woman’s unsubtle flirting that made him feel momentarily wanted, is rendered meaningless. Brienne’s rapt attention, the desire that’s so open and obvious, is the only thing in the room. 

She touches him slowly, chewing on her lip as she does. “Jaime,” she says after a moment; her fingertips on his abs, leaving tingling desire in their wake. “I don’t have any condoms.”

“.... _Fuck.”_

“That answers my next question.” She laughs, and Jaime can’t bring himself to be too mad. “I’m on birth control, but---”

“You’ve known me for less than a week,” Jaime finishes, “I’ll go to the gift shop in the lobby.”

“They’ll be like five times the normal price.”

“Of all the fucking times to be miserly. Right now, I’d bankrupt the Lannister dynasty to fuck you.”

Jaime expects Brienne to berate him, but she just takes a shuddering breath and nods rapidly. “G-Go. Be fast. I--I’ll be here.”

He kisses her. “Get yourself ready while I’m gone.”

* * *

Brienne’s right about the price of the condoms, and Jaime only looks because she’s rubbing off on him. The lady at the gift shop raises an eyebrow at Jaime’s impatience.

“Honeymoon, Mr. Lannister?” she says in the most polite, hospitality-appropriate tone.

“Yep!” Jaime’s reply is equally chipper as he rips his credit card out of the machine and sprints back to his suite.

Brienne _isn’t_ masturbating when he gets back. In fact, she’s sitting up with her arms tucked under the duvet. It’s not nearly as erotic, but her blush and sudden modesty have almost the same effect on his cock.

“I got sand in the bed,” she laments.

Jaime notices what are definitely Brienne’s swimsuit bottoms on the carpet, which means she’s definitely naked under those covers. “Who fucking cares?”

“You will, later.”

_“Brienne.”_

He can’t get to the bed fast enough. He can’t get his shirt, flip flops, or swim trunks off fast enough. In fact, Jaime trips with them around his ankles and nearly faceplants on the bed as Brienne laughs.

“Epic seduction right there.”

“I just spent the price of a restaurant meal on a dozen condoms.” Jaime slides under the blanket, foil packets clutched in his hand. _“There’s_ your seduction. The lady who rang me up _totally_ knew I was running back here to fuck someone.”

“It _is_ our honeymoon.”

Jaime can’t deny that he sort of wishes that were true. 

Brienne’s naked body sliding against his under the blankets is sinfully perfect. He reaches between her thighs and starts chuckling, “Are you _sure_ you didn’t touch yourself while I was gone?”

“...I’m not telling.”

The speculation will drive him wild enough. Jaime teases her, fingers dipping into her cunt and brushing against her clit. When she gets frustrated, Brienne grabs his wrist.

“How does _Mrs. Lannister_ want me to fulfill my marital duties?”

Brienne huffs and rolls her eyes but tugs Jaime on top of her. She grabs the string of condoms and blows Jaime’s mind by tearing one open and sliding it onto his cock for him. It requires pulling the duvet down, and Brienne replaces it immediately after. 

“A classic, proper wedding position,” Jaime teases, “You don’t want something more exciting? Are you going to lie back and think of the Seven Kingdoms?”

“Just...just shut up for a minute.”

Watching Brienne work through her nerves, especially as the buzz from the drinks wears off, is charming. It’s easy to be patient. Her words are peevish, but not her tone. When Jaime rubs the head of his cock against her, Brienne looks like she’s steeling herself for something unpleasant.

“Brienne?”

She shakes her head, “S-Sorry. Last time...it wasn’t great.”

“But you still want to?” Jaime wonders how many _last times_ there have been and what mediocre man Brienne let into her bed. 

“I do.”

“Promise?”

Her nod is more confident this time. Brienne still seems tense, so Jaime kisses her as a distraction. It’s probably an obvious tactic, but she responds, tongue meeting his. Then, he pushes into her in one stroke. It takes Brienne a moment, but eventually the tension leaves her, and she relaxes into the kiss. Her fingers gripping Jaime’s shoulders ease, too.

“Are you going to move?” Brienne sounds contrary again, “Or is this some tantric sex thing I don’t know about?”

 _“No._ I was just--”

“...Being considerate?” she finishes.

The affection from earlier swells in Jaime again. “Yeah.”

Jaime moves with a slowness that’s absolutely torturous. Each pass is like trying to scratch an itch just out of his reach. There was no need to distract her with a kiss; Brienne is practically dripping, and the slide is effortless. _Maybe she_ did _touch herself while I was gone._ The image makes it even harder to stop himself from thrusting wantonly. 

Brienne spreads her legs, so Jaime can settle more comfortably between her thighs. It makes her take his cock a bit deeper, and she lets out the loudest noise he’s heard so far. Jaime watches the way her lips part and her eyelashes flutter at the end of each thrust when he incrementally increases the pace. He wonders if he could make her scream loud enough the people in the next room would complain. 

Enough money would solve _that_ problem. Money was good at shutting people up.

As much as Jaime wants to keep fucking her, hearing her scream his name has an appeal. He’s not egotistical enough to assume his cock alone will be the thing that does it.

“Brienne.”

Her name draws her attention, but Brienne doesn’t protest until Jaime slides out of her. _“Hey,_ what’re you--’

“An intermission.”

“This isn’t that really ancient four-hour black and white movie about Aegon the Conqueror.” She sounds delightfully, _adorably_ put out. “We don’t need to a concession stand break, just--”

“Fuck you?”

_“Yes.”_

Jaime starts laughing, He keeps laughing as he kisses his way down Brienne’s body. She looks breathless and annoyed until he reaches his destination. Then, she’s just breathless. He makes sure to look extra smug at the first swipe of his tongue against her cunt. It takes less than a minute for her to take Jaime’s head between her hands and guide him to her clit. Brienne gets louder when he’s slower, so he builds her orgasm with steady, tempered movements.

Brienne closes her thighs around his head as she comes, and maybe there’s a moment where Jaime’s fucking her with his tongue, and he can’t breathe. He hears his name, _almost_ a shout, and _fuck_ if that isn’t worth an oxygen shortage.

She has her head thrown back--pale, freckled column of her throat bared to him. Jaime kisses her where her pulse thumps under her skin. His cock feels, somehow, _harder_ than when he pulled out of her.

“I’m gonna fuck you like you asked,” Jaime slides his hand to the back of her knee and lifts it. “Put your legs over my shoulders. It’ll feel good.”

“I know it will,” Brienne sounds a bit dazed, “or, I _think_ I do.”

Brienne admitting inexperience softens Jaime’s desire to tease her. She’s been insufferable more than once over the last week, but he thinks back on the moments fondly. Teasing Brienne is fun, but making her happy is better. 

When her legs are draped over his shoulders, Jaime enters her a second time. After the first thrust, he leans over her and kisses her. “Good?”

Brienne just nods.

“You can stroke my ego later, sweetling.”

She scoffs at the endearment, but it quickly shifts to a gasp. The only sound between them are panting breaths and the soft slap of skin meeting. Jaime abandons the notion of restraint, and every reaction from Brienne encourages the way he drives his cock into her. Brienne kisses him, or maybe he kisses her.

Jaime comes much sooner than he’d like, but he _thinks_ Brienne comes a second time, and that soothes his ego a bit. She also bears his weight admirably when he crashes down onto her.

“I’ll move,” he mumbles into her shoulder; sex expends more energy with every year that passes.

“You’re fine.”

“You fucked an old man, Brienne.” 

“I fucked a _dramatic_ man,” she corrects. Her hand finds its way down Jaime’s back, damp with sweat and still coated in salt. “Wait until I tell Margaery.”

“You’re going to _brag?”_

“Why shouldn’t I? Everyone else does.”

Jaime rolls off her, ties the condom off, and launches it in the direction of the trashcan. Then, he pulls Brienne against his chest. “If you get to brag, so do I.”

“What’s there to brag about? That I’m young?” Her forehead, damp with sweat, is pressed against his chest. 

“That you’ve put up with me for six days, and I’m still alive,” Jaime replies, “You know, tomorrow’s Sevenmas.”

“This _was_ a pretty good gift.”

* * *

There’s a picture of Joanna on his desk. 

It was taken just after Jaime and Cersei were born. He remembers the moment he snapped the photo. The exact date and location are printed on the back, long before the days of his smartphone asking if he wanted people and locations automatically tagged. Tywin doesn’t need to look, though--they’re in the nursery at their penthouse in King’s Landing.

The photo is the only bit of sentiment he allows in his office. There are no photos of his children; he doesn’t want to look at them everyday and wonder where he failed at raising respectable adults. Tyrion is a drunken philanderer, Cersei ignores her children and tries to play politics she doesn't understand, and _Jaime--_ Tywin thinks that Jaime is acting out some two-decades-too-late adolescent rebellion. Jaime, his first-born son, who should be the one to lead the Lannister dynasty into the future, is, well…

Myrcella sent him a series of screencaps from Jaime’s Instagram. He hasn’t responded to any of them, of course, even though his granddaughter keeps sending them.

 _She should be studying, not playing on the internet._ Jaime should be married to Lysa Tully and busy negotiating real estate infrastructure deals in the Riverlands. Joanna should be alive and by his side. Lots of things aren’t as they should be.

In the latest screencap, Jaime is kissing the Tall Girl again. This time, they’re standing in front of some obscene, topless statue. The Tall Girl is a giantess, taller than Jaime by a good two inches. By now, the news of Jaime’s imploded engagement to Lysa Tully was everywhere. Jaime should be here, dealing with that, but instead he ran away like a coward.

“It’s like he’s flaunting that they broke up,” Tywin says to his phone, “He’s _trying_ to look ridiculous, so it will reflect poorly on me.”

He texted his son as much two days prior, but of course the ungrateful brat didn’t respond. They would have words when Jaime returned. For now, Tywin has a mission. He picks up the phone to call his secretary.

“Yes, Mr. Lannister?” Shae is always the utmost professional.

“I’m sure you’re unaware, but Jaime has an Instagram account.”

There’s silence on the other end of the line. “....No, Mr. Lannister, I’m aware.”

“...You are?”

“I follow him,” Shae pauses, “I’m...pretty sure the whole office does, honestly. We talk about his pictures in the breakroom. There’s even a ranking system.”

Tywin doesn’t want to think about _that._ “There’s a young woman--”

“The tall girl Jaime keeps kissing! We all want to know who she is.”

He scrubs a hand over his face, “Can you find out her identity? Use whatever means you see fit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week, some shower fun, a kayaking fail, and all vacations have to end eventually.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I really will visit,” he whispers in her ear, but as Brienne drifts off to sleep, she can’t bring herself to believe Jaime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sad this fic is almost done. Thank you to everyone who's been reading along the way!

_ I need a shower. _

Brienne hasn’t opened her eyes yet, but it’s her first thought. Everything feels sticky and gritty. She’s sweating where Jaime’s cuddled against her, head resting on her chest, and it adds a layer of unpleasantness. He’s snoring softly and has his arm thrown over her stomach. Brienne looks down and can see the fine lines that gather at the corners of his eyes and the few strands of gray at his temples. There’s this desire to run her fingers through his hair, like she might pet a cat.

The shower, though...the shower is what she  _ really _ wants.

“Jaime.”

She uses the arm that isn’t pinned under him to shake him awake. Jaime protests with a groan so dramatic that it makes Brienne wonder how hard he was to get out of bed as a teenager. Instead of getting up, he buries his head face into her shoulder.

_ “Jaime.” _

“What?” 

“I feel disgusting.” 

“That’s a  _ horrible  _ thing to say the morning after,” Jaime rolls to look at her, “What if I took that personally and burst into tears?”

“Then you’d be an idiot.” 

_ “Ouch.” _

“I don’t know how I fell asleep feeling this gross,” Brienne says.

Jaime kisses her on the cheek, “Fucked into a peaceful slumber.”

Brienne’s face feels a bit sunburned, so hopefully it will mask the blush. “We didn’t do it  _ that  _ many times!”

“Go check the trash,  _ Mrs. Lannister, _ and you’ll see.”

Shoving Jaime off of her, Brienne grabs her cover up off the floor and puts it on. When she bends, Jaime makes an appreciative hum behind her. It barely hits her thighs and only obscures her chest if she crosses her arms. She doesn’t check the trash.

The first thing Brienne does in the bathroom is down a glass of water and brush her teeth. Halfway through the task, she catches Jaime in the mirror behind her, striding bare as a newborn baby into the bathroom. The tan he’s picked up makes everything about him more golden. Jaime really,  _ really _ is the sexiest person Brienne’s ever seen.

She just  _ stares _ in the mirror _ ,  _ toothbrush hanging uselessly from her mouth.  _ I had sex with him. _

“Rendered speechless?”

_ “What?  _ N-no.”  _ A total lie. _

Jaime comes up behind her and slips his arms around her waist, pushing the fabric aside. When he nibbles at the shell of her ear, Brienne nearly jumps out of his arms, and Jaime laughs.

“Keep brushing, tall girl.”

The toothpaste  _ is _ starting to burn a bit in her mouth, but it’s hard to focus when Jaime’s kissing her neck, tongue peeking out to taste her skin. It’s even harder he cards his fingers through her pubic hair and uses his index finger to circle her clit.

Brienne makes a startled noise around the toothbrush, but somehow manages to fill her glass and rinse without spitting water everywhere. 

“Good girl,” Jaime starts chuckling in her ear,  _ “ _ Look at you.  _ Very _ diligent.”

“What’re you--”

“Getting ready to take a shower with you, obviously.”

Brienne tilts her head back against his shoulder. Jaime increases the pace of his fingers. “Endless hot water,” she sighs, “I’ve always liked that about hotel showers.”

“There’s my girl. Great minds think alike.”

* * *

The idea that Jaime would leave Brienne in peace while she washed her hair is, in hindsight, ridiculous. After his antics in front of the mirror, Brienne doesn’t  _ want _ to be left alone, but she doesn’t necessarily want Jaime to know that.

The shower is spacious enough to have a bench on either side of the massive showerhead. Jaime sits on one, shampoos suds in his hair, and  _ watches. _ Brienne feels terribly awkward, so she turns away as she washes her hair.

When Brienne bends over to scrub at her leg with a sudsy washcloth, there’s a sharp inhale behind her. She turns around, and Jaime is frozen and very obviously staring.

“This isn’t a show,” she calls out.

“Agree to disagree,” Jaime croaks, “Your ass looks  _ delicious,  _ and when you bend over, I get the best view.”

_ “O-Oh.” _

The compliment, as ridiculous as it sounds, turns Brienne on. It takes  _ a lot _ to respond, as evenly as possible, “L-Let me finish.”

“And then what?”

Feeling uncommonly outgoing, Brienne replies, “Whatever you want.”

Jaime laughs, but when she returns to her task, he falls silent except for some mildly labored breathing. Brienne nearly looks back, but she can guess what he’s doing, and the sight might make her die. When she places the washcloth on the bench, Jaime’s behind her so quickly she’s amazed he doesn’t slip and crack his head on the tile. Brienne doesn’t know enough High Valyrian to call an ambulance.

“Whatever  _ I  _ want,” Jaime cups her ass, squeezing gently, “That’s a bold offer.”

“Well, when in Lys…”

His laugh echoes off the tile. Then, he slips two fingers into her, and Brienne has to put her palms on the wall to steady herself from the sensation. “I’m a simple man, Brienne.”

Jaime’s fingers make Brienne’s reply a long time in coming. Brienne thinks about Jaime watching her, breathing hard, and wants to be the one that causes him to make those sounds. “Can I...Can I use my mouth to…?”

The inability to say it makes Brienne feel childish. She’s never done it, either, so that isn’t helping. Jaime’s eyes widen in surprise and a slow grin spreads across his face.

“No one’s gonna refuse that,” He sits, leaning back on his hands.

Brienne sits on her knees, and maybe this was a  _ terrible _ idea. Jaime’s cock is  _ right there. _ She could just...stare, if she wanted, until he asked what the hell she was doing. In fact, she can see the first signs of amusement on his face; one side of his mouth is  _ definitely _ quirking upward.

So, she does what she always does when faced with something she wants that makes her anxious--she jumps into the deep end.

Jaime makes the  _ most _ undignified noise.

But then he does a series of other things, like stammering her name when Brienne takes him as deep as she can manage and sliding his fingers into her wet hair when she uses her tongue. When Brienne applies the slightest bit of suction, Jaime’s hips jerk forward and startle her.

“S-Sorry.”

Brienne can’t respond, so she redoubles her efforts to show Jaime she’s fine. Margaery told her once about the power in giving a blowjob, and Brienne had rolled her eyes. It feels a little true, though; when she glances up, Jaime’s head is tilted back against the wall, and his chest is heaving. He guides her with whispered directions, and his reactions are all for  _ her.  _ If she keeps going--

“That feels…” he sighs and cups the back of her head, “ _ Really  _ fucking good.”

The next time Jaime jerks forward, Brienne’s better prepared. His grip on her head is much gentler than hers had been: she’d pulled his hair and pushed his head between her thighs. Then, she tried to suffocate Jaime for his generosity.  _ Maybe that was impolite. _

“Brienne,” Jaime pushes her gently away with a wet  _ pop. _ He takes a couple deep breaths before speaking again, “Ask me to fuck you.”

“P-Please,” she expects the words to get stuck in her throat, but they come easy. “Please fuck me.”

Jaime hauls Brienne to her feet and spins her around so she’s facing the wall. Her heart is pounding and every inch of her feels like it’s blushing. 

“Stay there, okay?” 

The condoms must be on the counter because Jaime returns to the shower, suited up and ready to go. 

“I didn’t see you bring those.”

“We both knew where this was going. Bend forward more.”

Brienne braces her hands on the tiles again. Jaime holds her hips and tugs her backwards onto his cock. She manages to keep her balance, one knee braced on the bench to stabilize herself. When she looks back over her shoulder, Jaime is smiling.

“This’ll be more like a sprint,” he teases, “You already did most of the work.”

Jaime thrusts and steals Brienne’s totally unwitty reply and replaces it with a moan. She pushes back against Jaime, seeking more, until she finds an angle that hits just right. It lacks the gentleness of all the times the night before, but there’s an intensity that Brienne finds she likes just as well.

“Good, good,  _ good,” _ Jaime repeats; Brienne can’t tell if he’s praising her or the sensations. He drapes himself over her back and whispers in her ear,  _ “Too _ good. Absolutely perfect. Can you come for me?”

Brienne can’t speak, so she nods and drags Jaime’s hand so he can touch her as he fucks her. It would be easy enough on her own, but this is their last day together. She’s so close that a final, earth-shattering thrust and Jaime’s thumb against her clit send her over. The condom dulls the sensation of Jaime’s orgasm, but the final haphazard thrusts give it away.

Jaime puts his hands beside hers on the wall, rubs his nose against her hair and says, “Wanna order room service? They have those purple smoothie bowl things you like.”

“...Acai?”

“Yeah, that!”

* * *

It’s against her better judgment, but Brienne acquiesces to renting a two-person kayak.

“You won’t enjoy it,” she tells Jaime, “It  _ seems _ better for a novice, but it’s a lie.”

“It’s cheaper,” he replies. 

Brienne very nearly tells him to fuck off.

Jaime hits her with this  _ look-- _ like a kicked puppy in a humane society commercial, and Brienne gives in. If it’s a shitshow, Brienne can paddle the damned thing by herself. Plus, it will give her the vindication of being correct.

Once, Margaery and Sansa came to Tarth with Brienne for spring break, and they’d kayaked around one of the more quiet inlets. Sansa, used to a variety of winter sports from childhood, assumed she’d get the hang of it quickly. Margaery, on the other hand, insisted on sharing with Brienne. The result was a failed attempt and coordinating their paddling, and Brienne doing it alone for the entire hour while Margaery held her oar across her lap.

A half-hour later, Brienne is guiding them away from the rental dock, belongings and lunch secured in a waterproof bag. The water is a clear teal, and she can see all the way to the white sand below. The day is beautiful, too--blue skies with an occasional fluffy cloud wandering by.

Even though she hasn’t kayaked in months, the rhythm is easy to remember. It helps that the stretch of water between the resort and a series of small barrier islands is placid. Her paddle glides easily through the water, and they gain momentum.

...At least until Jaime dips his paddle into the water on the opposite side and messes up her rhythm entirely. They slow down considerably, and Brienne puts her oar across her lap.

She glances back at Jaime, “We have to be in sync.”

“Obviously!” Jaime’s paddling veers them in a direction that will eventually lead to a full circle. “Do you think I’m not trying?”

“No, I think trying to sync up with someone is annoying.” 

Jaime stops paddling, too, “You’re…right.”

The  _ I told you so _ on the tip of Brienne’s tongue isn’t productive. Jaime’s sheepish grin and the stupid looking straw beach hat he bought in the giftshop also make him hard to scold. Instead, Brienne says, “How about I call out what side you should be on?”

“Until we find a rhythm,” Jaime nods repeatedly, “We were good at that last night...and this morning.”

Brienne blushes and turns to face forward as Jaime laughs, “J-Just do what I tell you.”

“I’ll be good,” Jaime replies, “I  _ do _ want to get somewhere with you.”

That sentence feels weighty, and Brienne keeps looking ahead. She tries not to think about flying home tomorrow, or the fact that she’s absolutely going to have to ask Jaime about adjusting her flight. Brienne can fly first-class back to her ordinary, mundane life, and Jaime can go back to his penthouse in King’s Landing (or that’s where she imagines Jaime lives). It’ll be a comfortable, fitting ending to this ridiculous fantasy of a week. 

“Brienne?”

“Oh--sorry.” She lifts her paddle, “Right first, okay?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

* * *

When Jaime starts whining that he’s hungry, Brienne directs them to the nearest sandy shore she can find and hops out of the kayak. The water comes up to her knees and is just a bit cooler than the air. She tugs the kayak onto the and offers Jaime her hand.

“I got better, didn’t I?”

“You did,” Brienne agrees, “The best tandem kayaking experience I’ve ever had.”

“Do you have a lot of tandem kayaking experiences?” Somehow, Jaime makes that sound salacious, even though she isn’t even sure what that would mean.

“J-Just my friend Margaery. She made me paddle the whole time.”

“Is she the one who bailed on this vacation?”

“She is,” Brienne smiles because she can’t even be annoyed anymore, “Although, she would’ve loved how it turned out. She’s all about luxury.”

“Would I have been buying her handbags?”

“No, she can buy her own. She doesn’t like men doing things for her.”

Jaime laughs, “Is it bad that I’m glad she bailed?”

“I am, too,” Brienne looks down at her sandy, flip flop-clad feet, “I actually...I don’t want to go home.”

“Has the fancy stuff spoiled you for your everyday life?” Jaime takes her hand, “Hey, what would you do if I came to visit you on Tarth?”

Brienne glances up, startled, to find Jaime looking at her softly. “Why--why would you come to Tarth?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

_ Because it could never work. _ Jaime on Tarth is unimaginable. Jaime in the shabby, worn living room of her childhood home is absurd. Jaime meeting her father and trying to explain why he’s with a twenty-two-year-old. “B-Because you’re Jaime Lannister.”

“That’s not a reason,” Jaime replies, “Would you be embarrassed? Am I too old?”

“W-What? No. Our lives are just...very different, aren’t they?”

“I think we’ve found common ground, haven’t we?”

_ Common ground in a fantasy.  _ She pulls her hand from Jaime’s and reaches for the waterproof bag. “We should eat.”

Jaime's face falls, but he hides it quickly. It’s unfair, but Brienne’s a bit glad. This will be hard enough for her without Jaime prolonging the fantasy. She likes him, maybe more than she’s ever liked anyone.

They sit side-by-side and eat their overpriced sandwiches. It feels like the kind of lunch Brienne might’ve eaten on a grade school field trip. Brienne focuses on keeping sand out of her food. Their conversation was a bit too much reality for her, and she can’t get her good mood back, even as she stares at the beautiful view.

“Hey, tall girl,” Jaime nudges Brienne’s shoulder with his, “Take another picture with me.”

“Maybe the last one?”

He digs his phone out of the bag and tries not to get sand on the screen. “For now.”

* * *

They go back into the city for dinner. Sevenmas isn’t celebrated in Essos, so everything is open. The restaurant Jaime picked was booked when Brienne looked online, but some Lannister clout gets them a table. It’s high-end, but not ritzy enough that the lone sundress Brienne stuffed into her backpack is inappropriate.

“If only you had heels,” Jaime teases when he seeks her walk out of the bathroom. Brienne always,  _ always _ feels awkward when she dresses up, but Jaime’s attention and the nice comments on Instagram have her feeling better than usual.

“I donated the pair I had before.” Brienne saw little need to keep them when they collected dust in her closet.

“Maybe I’ll buy you new ones next time,” Jaime muses, “Anyway, the place was  _ technically _ booked, so we shouldn’t be late, however fashionable it might be.”

Dinner is lovely. Maybe it’s the intimacy of the night before, but it’s their first meal that feels like a date. The conversation drifts back and forth between them, the easiest it’s ever been. Brienne doesn't want to, but she can’t help but imagine what things would be like if they hadn’t met on a vacation on another continent. Maybe if she were a bit older and had a job in King’s Landing, and they ran into one another at a bar. Then, they could be on equal footing and wouldn’t need this weird, unrealistic space to be together.

Jaime changes her flight when they return to the hotel--first class except the final flight from Storm’s End to Tarth, That flight is only an hour and doesn’t have first class seats. Brienne has learned her lesson and doesn’t ask the price.

“From here to Storm’s End, we’ll be together,” he tells her, “We have a layover in Pentos.”

“That’s an easier route than my original flight.” She chose what was cheapest, figuring jetlag and discomfort were worth saving some dragons.

Brienne didn’t expect the last few hours to hurt so much, but when Jaime kisses her, slow and sweet, and they make love the exact same way, it makes her heart ache. The second time is tinged with an urgent desperation.

“I really  _ will _ visit,” he whispers in her ear, but as Brienne drifts off to sleep, she can’t bring herself to believe Jaime.

* * *

When they part at the airport in Storm’s End, Brienne holds out her hand to Jaime like they spent the week negotiating a business deal. He gives her a wry grin and shakes her hand. Brienne feels incredibly stupid the second she initiates the gesture, and it’s ten times worse when Jaime reciprocates.

It would’ve been less mortifying if Jaime laughed.

“See you around, tall girl,” he squeezes her hand before releasing it.

Brienne stammers, “T-Thanks--for everything. It was--”  _ Amazing.  _ “--A lot of fun.”

“I’ll let my brother know I make a competent sugar daddy,” Jaime laughs, “Although, you’re definitely  _ not _ the standard sugar baby.”

“You don’t have to say it like that.”

Jaime laughs again, waggling his fingers at her in farewell, and then he’s gone. Life isn’t a cheesy Sevenmas movie, so Jaime isn’t going to turn around and run into her arms. He’s going to go home, just like she is because that’s real life. It doesn’t occur to Brienne until her last flight is on the runway that Jaime probably did the entire thing to avoid an awkward goodbye.

Brienne spends the last few minutes before switching her phone to airplane mode scrolling through Jaime’s Instagram and feeling irritated and wistful. It’s not a good combination.

Tarth’s airport is comically tiny; Brienne’s father is waiting for her at one of the five baggage claims. They’re all so close together she didn’t have to text him which one. Flights from Storm’s End run practically on a commuter schedule.

Selwyn holds out his arms, and no matter how old Brienne gets or who’s watching, she’ll never refuse a hug.

“Welcome back.”

“Thanks,” she replies, “Did you take off work? I could’ve taken a rideshare.”

“Don’t waste your money on that. I’ll head back as soon as I drop you off. Galladon will be home in a few hours, too.”

“I...honestly don’t know what time it feels like.” Much later than it actually is. Brienne wants food and then to sleep until it feels like morning on Tarth. She  _ could _ sleep all day, honestly--she’s got nowhere to be.

“It’s three,” her father replies as he tries to take Brienne’s backpack. She doesn’t need help, but she lets him anyway. “Are you hungry?”

“Starving, but I don’t know what meal I want.”

“Breakfast, then.”

Brienne doesn’t have to say anymore; there’s a sandwich shop near their house that’s been a takeout staple for as long as she can remember. It was off the main road and hadn’t been ruined by seasonal tourists. Her father orders her a ham, egg, and swiss on a croissant. She eats it at their worn kitchen table on her usual chair that’s slightly uneven because of a hole in the linoleum.

_ No, someone like Jaime Lannister would never come here. _ He’d look ridiculous sitting in her shabby kitchen with its three-decade-old appliances. Jaime probably has one of those fridges that connects to the internet and looks up recipes.

Halfway through her sandwich, Brienne opens her phone and texts him  _ I made it home fine.  _ King’s Landing is a longer flight, so he won’t see it for a while, but she’d promised. Their last text is the picture from kayaking. It’s a normal one compared to some of the others; they’re just smiling with white sand in the background.

“Brienne?”

She glances up from her phone, “Yeah, Dad?”

He sits in the chair next to her, “Do you wanna talk about him?”

“I--I don’t know what I’d say, honestly. Besides, we never talk about stuff like this.”

“Because you never let me,” her father laughs, “Galladon kept showing me each new post.”

Brienne blushes until her ears feel on fire, “I--I was doing something strange, wasn’t I? I didn’t even feel like myself.”

“Is that good?” He sounds concerned, just as he always has when she criticizes herself.

“I had fun. I thought...I thought I couldn’t be a person like that, but I think I learned something about myself.”

“Brienne, did you--” Her father lets his mouth hang open, thought unfinished. “You like him.”

“I-I do.”  _ Not that it matters. _

“He’s a rich playboy, Brienne. He probably picks up young girls on vacation every time he travels.”

“Jaime wouldn’t--he’s not like that. I know how it looks, and I’m not saying it would work between us, but it wasn’t like you’re imagining.”

Her father looks at her, bushy brows drawn together, “He’s fifteen years older than you.”

Brienne doesn’t want to hear another hurdle between Jaime and her, even a true, logical one. “It doesn’t matter.” She stands up from the table, ”Thank you for picking me up and for the sandwich. I think I...I’m gonna take a nap.”

Her father’s eyes are on her back as she leaves the kitchen, but he doesn’t say anything else.

* * *

Brienne’s text is waiting for Jaime when his plane lands. It’s a simple, declarative message. _I made it home fine._ There’s no sentiment, no affection; Jaime doesn’t know what he expected. He responds _I’m glad._ 😘

She doesn’t respond during his entire ride from the airport, but Jaime isn’t concerned.  _ Maybe she’ll blush when she sees it. _ Jaime misses those dramatic blushes already, even though it’s only been a few hours since he last saw her. He’s regretting their goodbye at the airport already. Teasing her seemed the best way to avoid awkwardness, especially when Brienne decided shaking his hand was the best way to say farewell.

Next time, because there  _ will _ be a next time, Jaime will tease her for it.

The view of King’s Landing and Blackwater Bay from his apartment is the same as ever. The space is big and lonely, and Jaime’s never really cared about it that much. He’s lived there for years, but everywhere except his bedroom feels like a model home--too white and too empty.

His bed would feel better with Brienne in it.

Jetlagged, Jaime pulls off his clothes and gets into his bed. His housekeeper changed the sheets, and his familiar mattress is welcoming after a week in hotel beds. Even the best company can’t change that. He falls asleep hoping Brienne will have texted him back by the time he wakes up.

A call from Tyrion rouses Jaime much sooner than he would like. He was half-hoping to sleep until the morning and just reset everything. It takes him a minute to get his phone to his ear after answering, and he can hear Tyrion dramatically calling “Helloooooo?” over and over in the speaker.

_ “Seven hells,”  _ Jaime holds the phone up to his ear, “Stop fucking wailing like that.”

Tyrion starts laughing, “I wanted to make sure you were awake.”

Jaime sits up too fast and regrets it when a wave of dizziness hits him, “Well, it worked. What’s up?”

“Just making sure you arrived alive.”

“I did.”

“And…” his brother pauses, which is never a good sign, “Father knows about Brienne.”

Confused, Jaime replies, “Good, I was trying to piss him right the fuck off.”

“No, I mean he  _ knows  _ about her. He had Shae do some digging, so he knows her last name, address, her family. Seven hells, he probably has her vaccine records and a list of her food allergies.”

There’s no need to ask why Tywin Lannister wanted the information. He kept tabs and dirt on anyone his family got too involved with. Jaime brought the digging on himself by flaunting Brienne all over Instagram. If Tywin decides to target Brienne, Jaime will be the one to blame.

“Did you fuck Shae to get her to tell you that, Tyrion?”

“Nope,” his brother replies, “Well, I mean I did, but it was after she told me.”

“I’m hanging up now.”

Jaime pulls the phone away from his ear as Tyrion calls out, “Jaime, if you’re serious about this girl, you’ll have to deal with our shithole father.”

He ends the call without responding and opens up the photo reel on his phone. It’s all Brienne, Brienne, Brienne. There’s a picture of her he never posted. In fact, Jaime isn’t even sure she knows he took it. Brienne is looking over the seawall in Lys, elbows resting on the white stucco. The wind caught her hair just right, and the sunlight is perfect; it doesn’t even need a filter.

Jaime uploads it, adding  _ I miss her already.  _ 😭 He wishes Brienne had an account so he could tag her; it would make him feel closer to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time, Jaime pines, stands up to his father, and does exactly what he promised Brienne he'd do.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Jaime’s defense, he knows the plan is both a long shot and possibly a horrible idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The response to this fic has been unbelievable. Thank you so much for every kudos and comment and bookmark! I hope everyone enjoys the conclusion.

Jaime’s been back at work for less than a day before he has the displeasure of running into his father. Tywin is supposedly half-retired and lets the board of directors handle all but the major decisions, yet somehow his father always manages to darken Jaime’s door.

The first words out of his mouth are, “Back from your romp and done being an embarrassment?”

“Thanks for asking how my trip was, Dad. It was really relaxing.” Jaime’s feeling catty and doesn’t have a single fuck to spare on his father’s bullshit. “I know you looked into Brienne, too.”

Tywin’s expression doesn’t change, which just pisses Jaime off. “She has no status or wealth. The Tarths ruled the island centuries ago, but there’s nothing left of their fortune but the name. You _surely_ knew what the girl was after.”

“The only thing Brienne was after was telling me that I’m a rich idiot.”

“That’s what poor people always say when they’re jealous of our accomplishments.” Tywin’s political and economic policies were immutable; the poor were poor because of lack of effort and discipline. If Tywin could bring the Lannister dynasty back from economic ruin, anyone should be able to do what he did.

“I don’t…” Jaime thinks of Brienne, sitting on a private beach in Lys talking about income inequality. “I don’t think that’s true. Brienne called you a cartoon villain. She’s definitely _not_ jealous of me.”

Jaime hopes his father will react. _Maybe_ his eye twitches the slightest bit, but it’s not really satisfying. “You already wasted thousands of _my_ dragons on your failed wedding, not to mention future revenue opportunities having lost access to the Tully’s assets. How much _more_ did you waste embarrassing yourself on that honeymoon?”

“I only spent money I earned,” Jaime snaps, “and a marriage shouldn’t be a business deal.” 

“Money you earned riding _my_ coattails. I thought you had more sense than to burn your salary on gold digging women. Maybe you’re more like Tyrion than I thought.”

Jaime doesn’t care much if his father insults him, but Brienne doesn’t deserve it. “You don’t know her, _at all._ I’d rather spend my money on her than waste it intimidating people like you do.”

“This conversation is over. I suggest you figure yourself out before we speak again.”

Tywin walks away looking utterly nonplussed; Jaime, quite the opposite, stomps back to his office and past where Pia, the administrative assistant, sits. 

“Are you okay, Mr. Lannister?”

“I’d like to break my father’s nose, but...I’m fine, Pia. You can just call me Jaime; ‘Mr. Lannister’ makes me think of _him,_ anyway.” Pia won’t do it, but Jaime keeps asking.

She purses her lips, “A couple phone calls came in, and they’re not things I can handle.”

“That’s fine, Pia,” Jaime pauses, “Can you do me a favor? There’s no hurry on it.”

“Of course, Mr. Lannister.”

“Can you look up the philanthropy and charity work we’ve done in the last...I don’t know, decade? I’d like as much detail as possible.”

“Would you like me to email you what I find?” Pia’s fingers are poised over the keyboard; she’s can’t be more than a couple years older than Brienne, and she’s much better at finding information than he is.

“Perfect.”

Jaime smiles at her, and Pia glances down at the desk. “Mr. Lannister, you looked like you had a lot of fun on your trip.”

“You know what, Pia, I did.”

* * *

Addam and Tyrion wouldn’t be friends without Jaime gluing them together. In fact, they would probably never hang out at all without Jaime around. They often accuse him of being a hermit in his apartment, so when they invite him out a couple days later, Jaime begrudgingly agrees.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to see them; it’s more like he’s enjoying his moping about Brienne and doesn’t want it disturbed. They’ll offer solutions, and Jaime won’t want any of them. The only solution is obvious; Jaime just isn’t sure how practical it really is.

They go to a tap house Addam likes, and Tyrion orders flights of beer and unhealthy appetizers like soft pretzels with beer cheese dip and tater tots with three kinds of artisanal ketchup. 

“You’re moping,” Addam says before their food even arrives, “So just spit it out.”

Jaime crosses his arms and leans back in the booth, “Excuse you.”

“Addam’s right. Besides, I never got the full story from you about the unreasonably tall girl,” Tyrion says.

“There’s no story,” Jaime replies.

“If this were Tyrion’s vacation fling, I’d believe there's no story,” Addam pauses, like he’s waiting for Tyrion to disagree. Of course, Tyrion doesn’t. “Since it’s _you,_ I’m inclined to believe there’s a story.”

His brother nods his agreement, “You’re not one for hook-ups.”

 _“Fine.”_ It takes Jaime all through their first round of flights and appetizers to tell them about Brienne. He leaves out a bunch of details--things Brienne probably wouldn’t want shared--and he certainly doesn’t mention the ache in his chest when he thinks of her. Tyrion and Addam will roast him for that and, even if the teasing is well-meaning, Jaime doesn’t want to weather it.

“It sounds like you spent your vacation getting lectured and insulted by a college undergrad,” Addam says when Jaime’s monologue is through.

“Not what I’m looking for in a vacation fling,” Tyrion agrees.

“We had lots of really interesting conversations,” Jaime protests, “Brienne made me think about stuff I probably should’ve already been thinking about.”

Tyrion rolls his eyes, “That’s...not what fling is for, Jaime.”

“It wasn’t a fling.”

Addam is grinning into his beer. Jaime’s known him for thirty years; it’s the smug grin of a man who knows he’s right. “You want to date her.”

“I do.”

“How’s that gonna work exactly?” Tyrion asks, “Are you moving to Tarth? Gonna bring her to King’s Landing and put her up in your penthouse? Give her an allowance and hope Dad doesn’t unleash his wrath over it? He’s _really_ good at chasing women away, _especially_ if you’re overly fond of them.”

“I...don’t know,” Jaime admits, “I don’t have a plan, really.”

“I’m sure it’ll still work out _just_ fine for you.” 

It’s been over a decade, but Tyrion hasn’t forgiven their father for ruining his relationship with his first girlfriend, Tysha. His brother’s behavior had gotten worse since then, until Tywin cut off nearly all personal contact. Sometimes, Jaime thinks Tyrion has it easier.

Addam picks up on the obvious shift in mood and holds his phone out. It’s the picture of Jaime kissing Brienne in front of the Yndros statue in Lys. Jaime remembers the exact way Brienne’s hands felt clasped in his own. “These pictures are fucking disgusting.”

“Brienne isn’t _that_ young!” Jaime protests.

“No, I mean they’re disgustingly _adorable._ You two look like you’re in a fucking romantic comedy. Look at you, up on your godsdamned _tiptoes.”_

* * *

In Jaime’s defense, he knows the plan is both a long shot and possibly a horrible idea.

He knows it’s ridiculous as he talks with Pia about how realistic it would be to telecommute from Tarth for a while (or indefinitely, but he keeps that part to himself). Pia also gives him all the charity information he asked for, which he tucks away for later. 

He knows it’s ridiculous when he stays up too late on his phone looking at vacation rentals on Tarth. It’s off season, so they’re not that outrageous. He emails one he likes and offers to pay double for the first month if he can wait to decide how long he’s staying. 

_Just in case Brienne doesn’t want me there._

The final ridiculous step is booking his flight to Tarth. It’s New Year’s Eve and last minute, but Jaime doesn’t care that it costs an arm and a leg. It doesn’t feel nearly as much of a gouge as the Perfumed Garden’s gift shop condoms. Jaime was willing to bankrupt himself on prophylactics, so a plane ticket won’t be the thing that stops him.

Tyrion got Brienne’s address from Shae. His brother offered to tell him more info, but Jaime refused. He wants to see her, not be a stalker.

Jaime’s filled with nervous energy the entire flight and stupidly accepts the complimentary alcohol. By the time he reaches his connection at Storm’s End, he’s lucky to walk in a straight line to his gate. The layover is long enough that he feels more or less cogent by the time he lands. He stares out the window as the plane descends, looking at Tarth’s white stone cliffs and verdant forests. It’s Brienne’s home, so he’s fond of it already.

The houses on Brienne’s street are a bit ramshackle, and there are cars parked on the street. It looks like the kind of neighborhood that was probably nice thirty years ago, but has fallen into a comfortable tiredness. Logically, he should’ve gone to his rental first, but Jaime typed Brienne’s address into his phone and drove his rented SUV directly there.

Before losing his nerve, Jaime walks up the uneven cement steps to the porch and knocks on the door. As he waits, Jaime tugs his windbreaker closer around him--the cold on Tarth is damp; he should’ve worn his hat and gloves.

The man who answers the door has Brienne’s stature and freckles but brown eyes. _Galladon._ He stares at Jaime, mouth slightly ajar, and doesn’t speak.

“Um,” Jaime says, “Is Brienne home? She isn’t expecting me.”

“You! You’re--” He jabs his finger in Jaime’s direction, “Jaime Lannister.”

“That’s me.”

Galladon turns around and _yells,_ “Brienne! The hot guy from Instagram’s at our door?” The upward inflection makes him sound uncertain that Jaime is really there.

“I swear on the Seven, Galladon, if you’re pranking me--” Brienne sounds like she’s upstairs, but Jaime hears her loud and clear. It feels like it’s been a lifetime since he last heard her. Brienne appears on the flight of stairs leading to the second story. She stops on the third step from the bottom and stares at him.

“Not a prank,” Galladon gestures at Jaime with a pair of large hands, “See, that’s a real man.”

“Hello,” Jaime says.

Brienne is wearing joggers, an Oldtown University hoodie, and fuzzy blue socks. She looks comfortable, and Jaime’s about to bust in and ruin that. 

“Jaime,” she says.

“Hi, tall girl.”

“Is _that_ what he calls you?” Galladon asks, but they both ignore him.

“You-- _how did you find where I live?”_

“My father looked you up, and my brother fucks dear old dad’s executive assistant,” he pauses, “Your address is the only info I got. I just wanted to get here.”

“You just wanted to get here?” Brienne crosses her arms and scowls, “Why, Jaime?”

Before Jaime can formulate the tornado in his brain into a sentence, a man who must be Selwyn Tarth appears from a doorway. He’s taller than Brienne, broader, and sports a pair of bushy eyebrows and a beard. 

“What are the two of you yelling about? Just tell them we’re not interested in taking the Lord of Light as our savior. It’s New Year’s Eve, for Seven’s sake.”

“Dad,” Galladon says, “It’s not a door-to-door Red Priest. It’s Brienne’s Instagram boyfriend.”

“Hi,” Jaime repeats for a third time.

“Why, Jaime?” Brienne says again.

“I just--I promised I’d visit, and I wanted to see you again.”

Brienne turns a bit pink, “It’s only been five days.”

“It felt like a month, Brienne.” He wants to touch her, but Galladon and Selwyn are still looming in the entryway. Jaime’s not sure he’s bold enough for that until someone invites him in. “I couldn’t wait any longer.”

Jaime hopes that will soften Brienne’s posture--revealing something tender usually seems to work. Instead, she hunches her shoulders even more. “So, you thought you’d use your connections to look up my address and just hop on a plane? Did you consider how that _might_ look a bit creepy?"

"I wanted to surprise you."

"Maybe I didn't want to see you."

Rejection was something Jaime tried to prepare himself for, but it still feels like a gut punch. Brienne has stopped glaring to look at her socks. 

"I was afraid I'd chicken out if I texted you," Jaime admits, "And you haven't texted me. I decided to come see for myself."

Brienne raises her voice a bit, "Do you know how out of touch that sounds? Normal people don't just hop on a plane on a whim."

"You're right that I don't know what normal people do, but I think that you want to see me again." Jaime nearly dares Brienne to lie to him about that. 

Like they sense that the conversation could explode, Galladon and Selwyn take a couple steps back into the entryway. Jaime wouldn’t be surprised if they hid in the living room and poked their heads through the door, one atop the other, like in a cartoon. 

Instead, Brienne whispers, “I-I _do,_ but it’s going to hurt.”

“Why?”

“Because I can’t live on a vacation, Jaime. I can’t drop _whatever_ I’m doing and meet you in some foreign country. I have to get a job and act like a regular, boring adult.”

“I have a job,” Jaime protests, “And, _fine..._ maybe it isn’t normal, and maybe I didn’t tell my father I was leaving King’s Landing, and maybe he can’t really fire me for it.”

Brienne raises her voice, “That’s what I’m trying to say. You live on another planet. I spent a week with you; I saw it first hand. You’re way out there,” she waves her arm as far as she can reach, “and I...well, _this_ is my house. I can’t keep up with you.”

“I didn’t come here to invite you on a cruise to Naath or to some ski resort in the Frostfangs.” He’s trying, and failing, to explain himself. “I’ll take you to those places, or anywhere else you wanna go, but that’s not why I’m here.”

Jaime must’ve gotten louder, too, because the front door of the neighbor’s house creaks open and a grumpy, elderly woman teeters out, leaning heavily on a cane. She sits in her porch swing, pulls her quilted coat closer, and just _stares_ at them.

Seeming not to notice their new audience member, Brienne leans against the doorframe; the paint is chipping in some spots. “Then _why,_ Jaime?”

“I’m gonna stay here if you want me to.”

 _“Here?”_ She raises her eyebrows.

“Well, not _here_ here,” he digs his phone out of the pocket of his windbreaker, _“Here._ I haven’t been yet, but the pictures looked fine. Pretty cheap, too.”

Brienne reads the address, “That’s not cheap! Did you _buy_ a beachfront house?”

“Seven hells, no. I rented it. I’m not in the habit of buying property on a whim.”

“Those raised our property taxes when they built them.” Brienne takes his phone, like all the times in Essos when she held it. “People protested and everything.”

“Did you?”

“No. I was in Oldtown at school. I wrote some emails and made some calls.” 

Jaime can’t help but wonder how many things his father did like this--something that was to his benefit with no thought of how it impacted others. He doesn’t think he’d like the answer.

From inside, Brienne’s father says, “We’re managing just fine.”

“You _always_ say that, Dad!” She spins around, “Even when you need help, you _never_ ask.”

 _The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree._ Brienne’s brother has his face buried in his hands, laughing. 

“I only paid for a month,” Jaime says, “In case you...didn’t want to see me. I thought it’d be awkward if we ran into each other. There’s other places, though--I saw a for sale sign a couple houses down.”

Now, Brienne’s brother raises his eyebrows, _“You’re_ gonna live on _our_ street? Jaime Lannister? On _our_ street?” When he says Jaime’s name, his voice raises half an octave.

“I could.”

“This conversation is absurd,” Brienne hands his phone back, “I thought you didn’t buy property on whim.”

“It’s not a whim if I asked, and you want me here,” Jaime takes a deep breath in the hopes of calming his pounding heart. “This street is…charming. I can make anything work.”

Brienne laughs, “You’re a terrible liar, Jaime Lannister.”

“I’ll tell you the truth, then. The week we spent together was the best time I’ve ever had. It’s not right for it to end with a goodbye at an airport. It’s a waste if we don’t try to make something of it.”

She considers him for a long, long time before she speaks. “What if...what if I can’t find a job and have to live at home for a year?”

“I’ll stay on Tarth for as long as you do.” Brienne won’t want a favor, but Jaime offers regardless, “You definitely, _absolutely_ don’t wanna work for my father, but I _do_ know some people.”

“They’ll recognize me from your Instagram, and I won’t be taken seriously.”

“Five minutes with you, and anyone will see what I see.” Jaime’s career is half-assed nepotism, but Brienne will excel at whatever she tries. “And no one does anything without help.”

“W-what about your job and your father?”

Jaime shrugs, _“Fuck_ my father. There’s the internet and, if shit’s really dire, an airplane.”

“What if I decide to go to grad school?”

“Tell me where to write the check. If it’s in King’s Landing, you can live with me. If it’s not, I’ll come with you.” Jaime’s grin is so wide it makes his face ache. Selwyn looks like a vein is going to pop in his forehead, but Jaime doesn’t care. “Let me help you.”

“I’m not...you can’t _buy_ me.”

He reaches out and circles her wrist with his fingers, “I’ve _never_ been trying to buy you.”

“Just because I don’t want jewelry, or...or handbags...that doesn’t mean it’s not--”

From inside the house, Galladon says, “I don’t know, Brienne, I think he could buy _me.”_ Brienne glares at her brother, and Galladon just shrugs. 

“What else is a rich, older man good for?”

“L-Lots of things,” she glances away, “Your money isn’t why I like you.”

“But my family has too much; you’re right. I spent the last few days looking up all the charitable things my father _doesn’t_ do. I have folders and folders of business records.” Not to mention the shady shit that he _knows_ exists but hasn’t touched yet.

“Almost nothing.” The barest hint of a smile appears on Brienne’s face. “And it’s all performative publicity and tax write-offs.”

“See, I love that you just knew that.”

Her tentative smile breaks into a real one, and Jaime nearly swoons right there on the Tarth’s front porch. “I love that you listened to me.”

“You say interesting things,” he says, “I look forward to hearing more about how wrong I am.”

“I know I can be a bit much.”

“Maybe, but you don’t need to change.”

Brienne squeezes her eyes shut, “I...I was so sad at the airport. I didn’t know how to say goodbye to you.”

“You shook my hand.”

Behind them, Galladon says, _“Really,_ Brienne?”

_“Shut up!”_

“Don’t say goodbye, then,” Jaime says, “Let me come to you.”

Jaime glances to Galladon and Brienne’s father, both of whom are trying (very poorly) to look like they aren’t listening or watching. The woman on the porch next door doesn’t even make the attempt.

“Hey,” Jaime gestures to his left, “Our neighborly eavesdropper…”

“That’s just Roelle,” Galladon says, “She was born nosy. Nasty babysitter, too.”

“The nastiest,” Brienne agrees, “She used to braid my hair so tightly I cried.”

“I don’t know _why_ you never told me she was mean,” Selwyn says. 

Galladon sighs, “We didn’t want to bother you, Dad.”

The audience doesn’t matter. The whole damn block could line up; Jaime’s already kissed Brienne in front of the entire internet. “Brienne, I wanna kiss you.”

Brienne blushes to the tips of her ears. _“N-Now?_ In front of everyone?”

 _“Everyone?_ There’s three people. We kissed for my _literal_ thousands of Instagram followers.”

“That’s not the same.” Brienne steps closer, “You’re incorrigible.”

“That’s _such_ a compliment from you.”

Jaime keeps the kiss dad-and-older-brother-friendly--no tongue, no wandering hands, no trying to climb Brienne like a tree. He wants to seem respectable, which is already an uphill battle. Brienne only sighs against his lips once, and keeps her hands safely at his back. After five days of not kissing her, it’s hard to stop.

They barely notice when Galladon takes out his phone and snaps a picture. 

* * *

Her dad invites Jaime in for dinner. 

Their New Year's Eve meal isn't anything fancy, but Galladon is a good cook, and there's plenty of food. Brienne's a bit on edge, but Jaime is almost disturbingly polite. She's been weak to his charms since the first day on the Long Bridge; seeing him try so hard to impress her family pushes away some of the doubts lingering at the edges of her mind.

Her father is polite but not always warm. He softens to Jaime in increments over the course of the meal. By the time Brienne serves the apple cranberry pie she baked, her father is laughing heartily at some joke Jaime tells.

Galladon and she load the dishwasher after dinner, standing side-by-side at the counter like when they were kids.

"Your boyfriend's working it pretty hard over there."

"He's not my--" Galladon holds out a plate, and Brienne takes it, "Oh, I suppose he is, isn't he?"

"I stalked his Insta after Margaery texted me, but he's even hotter in person. Like...how do you even _look_ at him?"

Brienne smacks Galladon in the arm with her wet hand, "So _that's_ how you found out. I'm going to kill her. And I...he's a bit annoying; it makes it easier."

"He'd have to be pretty grating to dim _that,"_ Galladon laughs, "And don't blame Margaery. I'm the one who told Dad."

Jaime and her father are still talking; her father's posture is relaxed.

"It's fine."

"Maybe he'll take us _all_ on a nice vacation. Yi Ti seems beautiful."

Before Brienne can scold her brother, her father stands up from the table. "If you want to see the fireworks, we should go."

Jaime says, "Fireworks?"

"They do them off the pier on New Year's Eve. The beach will be crowded, but we know a secret locals-only spot."

“We do them before midnight because no one wants to stay up that late,” Galladon says.

Jaime shivers when they step onto the porch, so Brienne grabs one of her spare hoodies off the coat rack, and they stuff it between his sweater and windbreaker.

"This isn't King’s Landing or Oldtown," Brienne zips up his jacket, "The wind off Shipbreaker Bay is nippy."

 _"Nippy,"_ Jaime shivers, "I didn't pack well enough."

"You didn't bring sunscreen to Volantis. You just assume you can buy the stuff you don't bring."

"Are you going to scold me forever?"

"...Someone has to."

Jaime gives her the softest smile and takes her hand when they reach the sidewalk. They've been walking this same sidewalk since Brienne was a kid; she knows every crack and dip in the pavement. Walking it with Jaime makes it feel new. 

The view is home to her, even with the lights from the new construction along the water. The shape of the coast is the same, and the white cliffs still reflect the moonlight. The damp cold is comfortable in its familiarity. 

Galladon and her father are talking about something Brienne can't hear over the wind. A few of her neighbors are milling around waiting for the fireworks, too.

"The view is b-beautiful," Jaime is shivering.

Brienne stands closer to block the wind. It's not warm, but she's used to it. "Yeah, it is."

Jaime tucks himself close to her, hands sliding under her unzipped coat and resting his head on her shoulder. Her father and Galladon are probably staring, but Brienne looks out at the boats twinkling in Shipbreaker Bay instead.

"C-Can we see my p-place from here?"

"It's down there," Brienne points, "That was all empty beach when I was a kid."

“After,” Jaime whispers into her ear, “Come with me to check it out? I might get lost and drive into the bay.”

“You definitely won’t.”

 _“Fine._ There’s some stuff I wanna do with you that I don’t want your dad to hear or think or know about.”

It’s a good thing the fireworks start because Brienne can’t think of a reply.

* * *

Brienne stuffs a change of clothes and her toothbrush into a canvas grocery tote and says goodnight to be father. She’s not a child, and has long grown out of needing permission for things, but there’s still this weird sense of nervousness, like he’s going to tell her she can’t go with Jaime.

Instead, he shakes Jaime’s hand and tells him to be careful on the roads.

It’s close to midnight, and the drive is quiet, most people having decided where they’re ringing in the new year. Brienne doesn’t talk much beyond narrating the navigation app on Jaime’s phone. Now that they’re alone, a weird sense of jittery adrenaline overcomes her. It persists when they park his rented car in the garage, and Jaime types in the code to get the key from the lock box.

The place is spacious and a bit sterile in the way vacation rentals can be--too white and nothing to make it feel homey. Brienne doesn’t have much chance to inspect the details because Jaime kisses her as soon as the door is locked behind them.

“There’s the last three of those _insanely_ overpriced condoms in the outside of my suitcase,” he says.

Brienne gropes around trying to find the zipper while Jaime nibbles on her earlobe (it takes much longer than it ought). When she’s successful, she starts navigating Jaime in the direction she _thinks_ the bedroom is.

“I love how these condoms are the only time I’ve _ever_ heard you mention a price.”

 _“Outrageous,_ Brienne! How many other things are priced so absurdly?”

She pushes him, gently, down onto the bed; the linens are crisp like in a hotel. “Most things are overpriced, you idiot.”

“I love it when you talk dirty to me,” Jaime pulls her down on top of him and kisses her until she sighs and lets her weight settle on him. “I missed you,” he whispers, “does it sound crazy to say I’m a little in love with you already?”

“Objectively, probably,” she replies, “But if you’re crazy, then I am, too.”

Jaime’s grinning as Brienne sits beside him on the bed and starts divesting him of all the layers she stuffed him in. By the time he’s down to his undershirt, he’s laughing and sliding his _very_ cold hands under her sweatshirt. There’s nothing but a bralette underneath; a fact Jaime seems very interested in.

“You’re so easy to get to,” he says as he pulls the hoodie over her head. “I’m like a burrito over here.”

“Wrapped up like a late Sevenmas gift,” Brienne agrees.

They take their time with one another. The condo and the bed are unfamiliar, but Jaime isn’t. However far apart their lives are in other ways, this is where she feels closest to him. The rest they can figure out. When Jaime’s done teasing her, he pulls Brienne onto his lap and kisses her while she rolls her hips against his until Jaime can’t say anything but heated praise and endearments. 

After, Brienne slides her phone from the pocket of her discarded jeans and looks at the time. “We missed the new year.”

Jaime stretches beside her in the bed, “Isn’t it lucky to kiss the person you want to spend the year with at midnight?”

“Yeah.”

“Then imagine how auspicious fucking them must be.”

“I’m not sure that’s how it...you know, why not?” Brienne looks at her phone again. She has a text from Galladon; it’s Jaime kissing her on the front porch.

 _in case you wanted to post it_ 😉

Brienne replies _I hate you but thanks._

Jaime scoots closer and throws his arm over her, “Oh, that’s a good one. Text it to me, and I’ll post it.”

“Maybe...maybe you could tag me this time?”

He lifts his head from her shoulder and smirks, “Did you, Brienne ‘social media is a waste of time’ Tarth, _get Instagram?”_

“I...might’ve made an account a couple days ago," she mumbles.

"Are you following me? I bet you are." Brienne's burning face is enough of an answer for Jaime to keep talking. "So you saw my post saying I missed you, but you still didn't think I'd visit?" 

"The whole week felt like a fantasy, so it seemed silly to hope for it to become my life." 

“I was afraid you wouldn’t want to see me, and I _know_ my father is going to be a pain in the ass, probably more than once.”

Brienne rolls her eyes, “I can handle an old man who thinks he runs the world.”

Jaime kisses Brienne until she’s so distracted she drops her phone onto the bed. _“Please_ help me handle him.”

“You wanna do more than kiss me on social media to piss him off?”

 _“Absolutely,”_ he says, “Now, tall girl, show me your Insta. _”_

Brienne picks up her phone again and swipes until she gets to Instagram. It hurt her pride too much to keep the icon on her main screen. The hassle of getting to it was her punishment for looking at Jaime's profile ten times a day.

“I haven’t posted anything yet,” she admits, “I don’t do anything interesting.”

“No one does, Brienne. It’s all just stupid shit.” Jaime takes her phone and sits up, “I’ll help you set it up and tag you in our photos. My followers are all curious about you, so I bet you have fans already.”

Brienne isn’t sure she needs fans, but it’s a little thrilling that people want to know who she is, and the compliments in the comments _had_ made her happy. “O-Okay.”

Jaime switches back and forth between their phones for a few minutes until he brandishes his phone to her like a prize, claiming, “It’s perfect!”

On the screen is the picture Galladon took of them kissing on her porch, lit by the Sevenmas lights around the railing. Jaime tagged both her and Galladon to credit him for the photo; Brienne didn’t even know her brother had an Instagram, let alone that he followed Jaime. There’s a half dozen of Jaime’s stupid hashtags, including #HappyNewYear and #CoupleGoals.

The caption reads _We’re dating now!_ 😳😌😘🎉.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time (yes, you read that correctly! I'm writing a follow-up one shot), our new couple learns to cook using a meal-kit subscription, Brienne plans a cheap weekend getaway, Jaime airs out some Lannister business secrets, and Margaery thinks Jaime is _way_ hotter in person.

**Author's Note:**

> Next time, Jaime and Brienne have another fateful encounter, smash faces some more, and Jaime makes a proposition.
> 
> If you don't follow me on tumblr, you can find me @kurikaesu-haru!


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